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^1  jj 

New  England  Magazine 


an  miuatrateb  fIDontbli? 






Volume  V 




Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1887  by  Arthur  P.  Dodge  in  the  office  of  the  Librarian 

of  Congress  at  Washington.    All  rights  reserved. 




Amherst  Hills,  To  The,  (verse) 17 

Arens,  E.  J 533 

Art  and  Literature 92,  199,  291,  394,  492,  600 

Ahlbom,  Ida  A 13 

Art  in  Book  Illustration 95 

Austin,  Henry  W 118 

Aristocracies,  The  Three 580 

ArchaeoFogist,  To  An,  (verse) 273 

Andover  Seminary  Trial,  (Editor's  Table) 385 

Arnold.  James  N 469 

Ammidon,  Philip  R 478 

Allen,  Hon.  Stephen  M 486 

Andrew  of  Paris,  A  portrait  of 100 

Anthony,  Senator,  and  Providence  Journal, —  Illustrated 574 

Anthony,  Henry  D.,  A  portrait  of 498 

April.  (Editor's  Table) 591 

April  on  the  Farm,  (verse) 545 

Ballou,  Rev.  Hosea,  A  portrait  of       404 

Brownings,  The,  (verse) 13 

Bouquet  of  Weeds,  A 14 

Bodwell,  Joseph  Robinson,  Portrait  of 28 

Bodwell,  Joseph  Robinson,  Biographical  Sketch  of 29 

Bassett,  William  G 184 

Bierstadt,  O.  A 171 

Brown.  Clara  Spaulding 253 

Bangs,  Elgbert  L 267 

Brooks.  William  Gray 299 

Bell  of  Schaffhausen,  The,  (verse) 333 

Bolton,  Charles  K. 333-532 

British  Cake,  The ;  A  Story  of  the  War  of  1812 376 

Birdseye.  George '  346 

Banker,  C.  A 452 

BartholdiStatueof  Liberty.  (Editor's  Table) 83 

Bit  of  Old  China,  A 417 

Bread  Making,  The  History  of 608 

rilechcr,  Henry  Ward,  (Editor's  Table) 588 

Congregational  Denomination.  The 230 

Chapin,  Rev.  E.  H.,  A  portrait  of 406 

Capen,  E.  H.,  D.D 401 

Copyright,  International 7 

Circulation  and  Reputation,  (Editor's  Table) 484 

Capitol,  The  Massachusetts      66 




Christian  Science  Mind  Healing 59 

Completeness,  (verse) 105 

Clark,  James  G 105 

Carrington,  Gen.  Henry  B.,  LL.D 106 

Civil  War  in  1862,  with  Map 106 

Chickadee,  To  A,  (verse) 118 

Colleges,  Mark  Hopkins  on  the  Uses  of,  (Editor's  Table) 592 

College,  Smith,  A  History  and  Description  of,  —  Illustrated 207 

College,  Maine  State,  A  History  and  Description  of, —  Illustrated 546 

Copper  Mines,  The  Simsbury 427 

Congressional  Matters,  (Editor's  Table) 283 

Cole,  Samuel  V ' 273 

Cotton,  Rev.  John,  Portrait  of 298 

Cotton,  Rev.  John,  Biographical  Sketch  of 299 

Cross,  Allen  Eastman 17 

Cake,  The  British ;  A  Story  of  the  War  of  1812 376 

Canoeing  in  Kennebec  County,  Maine 347 

Cullis,  Dr.  Charles 438 

Carr,  Laura  Garland,  (verse) 362,  579 

Clough,  William  0 363 

Choate,  Isaac  B 417 

City  of  Providence,  The 499 

Caldwell,  Rev.  S.  L.,  D.D 574 

Distinctive  Traits  of  John  B.  Gough 3 

Downes,  Wallace 19 

Dexter,  Rev.  Henry  M.,  D.D 230 

Deserted  Meeting- House,  The 363 

Doyle,  Mayor,  of  Providence 528 

Doyle,  Thomas  A.,  A  portrait  of 528 

Editor's  Table 80,  i88,  278,  382,  482.  588 

Englishman's  Opinions,  An 478 

Economics  of  Industry  in  School,  (Editor's  Table) 483 

E^^iscopal  Church  in  the  U.  S 309 

Election,  A  Vermont  Town,  (1815) 472 

Epitaphs,  Old  Time 253 

Easter  Offering,  An,  (verse) 558 

Educational  Institutions,  New  England 546 

Maine  State  Agricultural  College 546 

Northfield  Seminary 335 

Smith  College 207 

Europe,  The  Strained  Relations  of,  (Editor's  Table) 588 

Family,  A  Notable 53 

Flower,  Richard  C,  Portrait  of 55 

Family,  the  Unit  of  the  State,  The 82 

Fellner,  Eugene , ^8 

Form  and  Color,  Poetry  of 261 

Fair  Northfield,  and  The  Evangelist  Moody, —  Illustrated 335 

Facts,  Fears,  and  Imagination 469 

Fisheries,  The.  (Editor's  Table) 383.485 

Farman,  M.  Winslow 472 

Faith  Cure,  The.  — Illustrated 438 

French,  J.  M.,  M.D 427 



-FatherofBoston,  The,"  (Rev.  John  Cotton),— Illustrated 399 

Femald,  President  M.  C 546 

Forsyth  de  Fronsac 580 

Gough,  John  B.,  Distinctive  Traits  of 3 

Gould,  Elizabeth  Porter 150 

Gill,  William  1 59, 249, 438 

Goss,  £.  H 321 

Ghiberti's  Second  Gate,  (verse) 437 

Guild.  R.  A.,  LL.D 538 

Hill,  George  Canning 539 

Historical  Record 84,  193,  285,  389,  488, 593 

Historic  New  London  —  with  Map 119 

History  Writing,  (Editor's  Table) 193 

History  Writing,  Local 278 

Hard,  Edwin 53 

Hurd,  Charles  E. 95 

HoUoway.  Charles  M 119 

Hichbom.  H.  S f    .    .  347 

Hoosac  Tunnel  Property,  The  Sale  of,  (Editor's  Table) 482 

Heart,  The,  (verse) 576 

International  Copyright 7 

Isms :  Christian  Science  Mind  Healing 59 

Early  Transcendentalism  in  New  England 163 

Transcendentalism  of  the  Ages 249 

The  Faith  Cure,— Illustrated 438 

Old  Theology  Healing 533 

Index  to  Magazine  Literature 91,  202.  294.  396,  494,  604 

In  Two  Acts.    (A  Story) 321 

Isms  and  Denominations,  (Editor's  Table) 282 

Index-making,  (Editor's  Table) 284 

Irish  Home  Rule,  (Editor's  Table) 588 

Jordan,  Israel 69, 437 

Jordan,  M.  A 207 

Jenks,  Arthur  Elwell 558 

Kline,  Johnny,  The  Tunker  Preacher 141 

Kennebec  County,  Me.,  Canoeing  in 347 

Keene,  Mrs.  Luther 376 

Keyes,  Lucy.    (A  Story  of  Early  Times  at  Mt.  Wachusett) 79 

Knight,  Horatio  G.,  Portrait  of,  (Frontispiece) 94 

Knight,  Horatio  G.,  Biographical  Sketch  of 184 

Labor  Problem,  The,  (Editor's  Table) 281 

Literature  and  Art 92,  199.  291,  394,  492.  600 

Langhome,  Orra 141 

Love's  Preference,  (verse) 266 

Ludlum,  J.  K 244 

Libraries,  Public,  (Editor's  Table) 283 

Love,  The  First 539 

Luther.  Frederic  N 499 

Longevity,  New  England,  (Editor's  Table) 591 



Massachusetts  Capitol,  The,  (Frontispiece) 2 

Massachusetts  Capitol,  The,  Historical  and  Descriptive  Sketch  of 66 

Magazine  Literature.  Index  of 91,  202,  294.  396,  494,  604 

McCosh  Misunderstanding,  Th^,  (Editor's  Table) 192 

Moses,  Henry  George  on,  (Editor's  Table) 284 

Miner,  Rev.  A.  A.,  D.D.,  Portrait  of,  (Frontispiece) 400 

Miner,  Rev.  A.  A.,  D.D.,  Biographical  Sketch  of 452 

Magazines,  Historical,  (Editor's  Table) 484 

Moody,  Evangelist,  and  Northfield,  —  Illustrated 335 

Meeting-House,  The  Deserted 363 

McGlynn,  Father,  (Editor's  Table) 382-592 

Mind  Reading,  (Editor's  Table) 383 

Mind  Healing,  Christian  Science 59 

Map  of  New  London 140 

Maine  State  Agricultural  College,  —  Illustrated X 546 

Maine,  A  Reminiscence  of  the  War  of  1812,  in 376 

Marble,  A.  P. 79 

Maverick,  Samuel,  Sketch  of 221 

Map  of  Seat  of  War  in  1862 108 

Mountain  Stream,  The,  (verse) 187 

Municipal  Government,  (Editor's  Table) •  280 

Munkacsy's  Christ  before  Pilate,  (Lit.  and  Art) 600 

McArthur.  William,  LL.D 34 

Mayor  Doyle  of  Providence 528 

Murray,  Rev.  John,  Portrait  of 402 

New  Years,  (Editor's  Table) 278 

Nicolo  Cesi.    (A  Story) 34 

New  London,  Historic,  —  with  Map 119 

Necrology 87, 195,  287.  392,  490,  595 

Nash,  Charles  E 29 

Nelson,  Harriette  M ^. 275 

Northfield  and  Evangelist  Moody, —  Illustrated 335 

Nineteenth  Century  Mystery,  A,  (Ghost  Story) 457 

New  England  Winter,  A,  (Editor's  Table) 384 

Old  Time  Epitaphs 253 

Old  Time  Pastor,  An 275 

Old  Theology  Healing ^ 533 

Old  Man  Bowen  (A  Story) 559 

Park,  Rev.  Edwards  A.,  D.D 3 

Palmer,  Francis  Sterne 266 

Politics  on  the  Canada  Line  (1815) 472 

Portrait  of  J.  R.  Bodwell 28 

Miss  Sophia  Smith 209 

Dr.  R.  C.  Flower 55 

Andrew  of  Paris ico 

Rev.  E.  H.  Chapin 406 

Rev.  A.  A.  Miner,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  (Frontispiece) 400 

Rev.  Hosea  Ballou 404 

Hon.  H.  G.  Knight,  (Frontispiece) 94 

Rev.  John  Murray 402 

President  Seeljie,  (Frontispiece) 206 

Rev.  John  Cotton,  (Frontispiece) 298 



Henry  B.  Anthony,  (Frontispiece) 498 

Thomas  A.  Doyle 528 

President  M.  C.  Fernald 546 

Pictures  of  Algiers,  (verse) 406 

Peters,  Alfred  Henry 545 

Poetry  of  Form  and  Color 261 

Prichard,  J.  V 321 

I*age,  Henrietta  E. 457 

Plymouth,  A  Day's  Trip  to 150 

Providence,  The  City  of 499 

Providence  Journal  and  Senator  Anthony 574 

Price  of  Power,  The,  (verse) 532 

Religious  Denominations 230 

I.  The  Congregational  Churches 230 

II.  The  Episcopal  Church  in  U.  S 309 

III.  The  Universalis!  Church,  —  Illustrated 401 

Reade,  Fletcher 261 

Rhodes,  W.  H 608 

Remembered  Mornings  (verse) 69 

Railroads  and  Canals,  (Editor's  Table) 590 

Railroad  Horrors,  (Editor's  Table) 590 

School  Children,  Overwork  of,  (Editor's  Table) 282 

Simsbury  Copper  Mines,  The 427 

Sir  Reginald's  Banquet,  (verse) 450 

Scollard,  Clinton 450 

Shinn,  Rev.  George  W 309 

Scelye,  Rev.  L.  Clarke,  Portrait  of,  (Frontispiece) 206 

Smith,  Miss  Sophia,  Portrait  of 209 

Smith  College,  A  Histor>' and  Description  of, —  Illustrated 207 

Sister  Agnes ;  A  Story  of  Shaker  Life ^ 171 

Strikes,  (Editor's  Table) 592 

Transcendentalism  in  New  England 162 

Transcendentalism  of  the  Ages 244 

Temperance  Ideas,  The  Progress  of,  (Editor's  Table) 483 

"  To- Whoo,"  (verse) 426 

Taylor,  John  G 602 

Universalist  Church,  The,  —  Illustrated 401 

University,  A,  for  Worcester,  (Editor's  Table) 4%2 

Vamcy,  George  J 66 

Walsh,  George  E 559 

Wayside  Inn,  The,  Sudbury, —  Illustrated 19 

Wilson,  Calvert 7 

Weeds,  A  Bouquet  of 14 

War  in  1862,  The  Civil,  —  with  Map 106 

Wall,  Annie 162 

Women,  A  New  Study  for,  (Editor's  Table) 384 

Worcester,  A  University  for,  (Editor's  Table) 482 

Wright,  J.  B.  M 187 

Writing  History,  (Editor's  Table) 193 

viii  GENERAL    INDEX. 


Wild  Glen  River,  The,  (A  Story) 244 

Woman  of  It,  The 267 

Workingman,  The  American,  (Ekiitor's  Table) 279 

Winter  Calm  in  the  Country,  A 346 

War  of  1812,  A  Reminiscence  of 376 

Winter  in  New  England,  (Editor's  Table) 384 

Webster  Historical  Society 386, 486 

Winchester,  Mary 335 

Wealth,  Insuflficiency  of  Material,  (Editor's  Table) 362 

-Why?"  (verse) 362 




personality.  It  depended  on  his  character  and  derived  its  magnetic 
force  from  the  original  genius  which  lay  behind  it.  I  have  seen  him 
move  his  hand  in  such  a  way  as  fully  expressed  his  thought  before 
he  had  uttered  a  word.  I  have  seen  him  move  his  foot  in  such  a 
way  as  to  make  it  unnecessary  for  him  to  move  his  lips. 

His  peculiar  nervous  organization  made  him  unlike  other  men. 
It  facilitated  his  fall  into  vice.  Men  would  have  apologized  for  his 
evil  habits  if  he  had  not  risen  from  them.  They  would  have  been 
called  the  penalty  of  genius.  Sensitive  as  he  was,  we  wonder  that 
he  did  not  lose  his  life  when  he  lost  his  virtue.  It  has  been  said 
that  he  was  trained  in  the  school  of  penury.  This  is  true.  It  has 
also  been  said  that  he  was  trained  in  the  school  of  vice.  This  is 
not  true.  He  was  educated  by  his  resistance  to  vice.  It  has  been 
said  that  innocence  never  rises  into  virtue  until  it  is  tried.  Mr. 
Gough's  trial  continued  through  life.  It  proved  him  to  have  been 
a  hero.  We  do  not  expect  that  a  man  so  tremblingly  alive  as  he 
was  to  the  power  of  temptation  will  remain  firm  and  constant  in 
resisting  the  evil  which  had  once  subdued  him.  We  knew  the  im- 
pressibility of  Mr.  Gough's  nature ;  we  knew  the  perils  of  his  ex- 
citable temperament ;  yet  we  felt  as  sure  of  his  steadfastness  and 
perseverance  as  if  his  temperament  had  been  phlegmatic. 

As  a  lecturer,  Mr.  Gough  was  a  preacher  of  righteousness.  He 
pressed  upon  the  conscience  the  homely  virtues.  We  scarcely  be- 
lieve ourselves  when  we  say  that  he  was  born  with  powers  fitting 
him  to  be  a  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  also  a  theatrical  perform- 
er. If  he  could  have  retained  his  health  amid  the  seductions  of 
the  greenroom,  he  might  have  been  eminent  in  the  histrionic  pro- 
fession. Was  it  to  be  expected  that  his  genius  for  comedy  and 
tragedy  would  be  employed  during  a  long  life  in  warning  men 
against  the  very  vices  associated  with  the  plays  of  the  theatre? 
He  was  an  imaginative  man.  He  was  also  a  mechanic.  He  had 
been  an  indigent  book-binder,  and  he  became  a  connoisseur  of 
beautiful  books.  His  library  was  full  of  costly  volumes,  rare 
specimens  of  the  typographical  art,  rich  and  elegant  pictures,  on 
which  he  was  wont  to  make  choice  criticisms.  Very  seldom  can 
we  find  a  private  library  more  attractive  than  his  to  the  lover  of 
the  fine  arts.  Outwardly  his  books  were  splendid  ;  inwardly  they 
were  solid  and  instructive.     They  were  classic  treatises  on  all  sub- 


jects  interesting  to  the  general  reader.  They  were  not  kept  for 
show,  but  for  information.  Some  of  them  he  referred  to ;  some 
he  read ;  some  he  studied ;  by  all  he  was  stimulated  to  a  love  of 
letters.  He  had  no  ambition  to  be  a  learned  man  or  a  devourer  of 
books,  but  he  aimed  to  do  good  by  his  lectures,  and  to  enrich 
them  with  thoughts  suggested  by  the  great  masters  of  literature. 
He  was  so  facetious  and  nimble-witted  that  he  obtained  the  repu- 
tation of  being  a  most  amusing  companion.  He  was  amusing,  but 
he  was  likewise  edifying.  He  did  not  close  a  conversation  or  a 
lecture  without  some  instructive  remarks.  He  combined  a  marvel- 
ous clearness  of  perception  with  a  marvelous  quickness  of  intuition. 
While  addressing  a  promiscuous  assembly  he  detected  at  a 
glance  when  he  should  make  a  transition  "  from  grave  to  gay,  from 
lively  to  severe."  Being  aware  that  **  tears  dry  fast,"  he  suddenly 
turned  weeping  into  laughter.  Being  aware  that  ludicrous  images 
will  not  long  retain  the  interest  of  a  sound  mind,  he  suddenly 
turned  the  laughter  into  serious  contemplation.  His  sallies  of 
humor  smoothed  the  way  for  solemn  appeals ;  and  his  impressive 
admonitions  gained  a  new  power  from  the  dazzling  wit  which  intro- 
duced them.  His  facetious  words  attracted  the  giddy  multitude 
to  his  lecture  room,  and  men  who  would  not  listen  to  an  orthodox 
sermon  were  impressed  by  his  equally  orthodox  admonitions. 
Some  have  imagined  that  heiwas  not  a  reasoner.  He  did  see  and 
feel  the  force  of  an  argument,  but  he  was  distinguished  by  a 
ready  and  sharp  insight  rather  than  by  a  cumbrous  logic.  His 
rapid  intuition  outran  the  syllogism.  In  the  first  premise  he  fore- 
saw the  conclusion  which  others  were  laboring  to  prove.  He  was 
not  a  thoroughly  read  theologian,  but  he  was  more.  He  had  an 
instinct  darting  into  the  truth  and  needing  no  chain  of  argumenta- 
tion to  insure  his  evangelical  faith.  From  his  familiar  converse 
many  well-instructed  clergymen  have  derived  fruitful  maxims. 
He  felt  what  he  said.  His  prayers  at  the  family  altar  were  ex- 
pressions of  deep  thought  and  honest  feeling.  Their  reverential 
spirit  was  a  kind  of  touchstone  for  sound  doctrine. 

During  a  warm  but  pleasant  evening  in  1844, 1  was  walking  with 
Prof.  B.  B.  Edwards  across  the  village  green  in  Andover,  and  no- 
ticed that  the  Old  South  meeting-house  was  dimly  lighted.  Influ- 
enced by  mere  curiosity,  we  looked  into  the  house  and  saw  a  young 


man,  apparently  a  boy,  standing  on  the  platform  and  addressing 
eighty  or  ninety  auditors.  Our  attention  was  arrested  by  his  mu- 
sical voice.  At  that  time  its  tones  were  like  those  of  a  flute.  We 
were  affected  by  his  plaintive  intonations.  He  seemed  to  be  in  a 
melancholy  mood.  Still,  his  facetious  words  chased  his  sorrowful 
accents  swiftly  as  a  weaver's  shuttle  glides  with  the  woof  through 
the  warp  of  the  fabric.  We  did  not  know  the  name  of  the  young 
man,  but  we  inwardly  predicted  that  his  frail  body  would  be  early 
consumed  by  his  ardent  mind.  This  was  the  penniless  young  man 
who  was  to  spend  more  than  forty  years  in  raising  thousands  of 
inebriates  from  the  gulf  into  which  he  had  fallen.  This  was  the 
uneducated  young  man  who  was  to  support  many  penniless  youths 
in  academies  and  colleges.  This  was  the  diffident  young  man  who 
was  to  address  the  students  and  the  professors  of  American  and 
British  universities,  jurists,  statesmen,  clergymen,  members  of  a 
Senate  and  members  of  a  Parliament  and  to  draw  tears  from  their 
eyes  while  he  retained  his  self-command.  Reflecting  on  the  act 
that  he  delivered  nine  thousand  lectures  to  eight  million  five  hun- 
dred thousand  hearers,  and  left  an  example  which  is  itself  an 
impressive  sermon  to  us  all,  and  that  he  passed  through  un- 
numbered trials,  perils,  diseases,  persecutions,  we  are  reminded 
of  the    duty  which   he  often  exemplified : 

Judge  not  the  Lord  By  feeble  sense, 
But  trust  him  for  his  grace, 
Behind  a  frowning  providence 
He  hides  a  smiling  face. 
His  purposes  will  ripen  fast, 
Unfolding  every  hour. 
The  bud  may  have  a  bitter  taste, 
But  sweet  will  be  the  flower. 




When  Fletcher  wrote  his  since  well  known  and  oft  quoted  lines, 
**  Give  me  the  making  of  a  people's  ballads  and  I  care  not  who 
may  make  its  laws,"  he  recognized  the  wide-spreif  d  influence  that  a 
popular  author  always  exercises  over  the  minds  of  his  readers,  who 
in  a  civilized  and  cultured  country  form  the  masses  of  the  people. 
As  reason  and  justice  necessarily  form  the  basis  upon  which  all 
legislative  enactment  is  either  urged  or  opposed,  so  do  ballads 
impress  us  with  the  justice  and  strength  of  an  argument,  or  Don 
Quixote-like  laugh  away  its  absurdities.  Fichte,  the  German  phi- 
losopher, calls  the  man  of  letters,  **a  priest  continually  unfolding 
the  god-like  to  man." 

Recognizing  the  great  power  and  importance  of  a  national  litera- 
ture in  moulding  the  character  of  our  people,  and,  in  determining 
their  influence  upon  our  country's  happiness  and  prosperity,  we  do 
not  think  that  we  can  ask  of  our  legislators  too  stringent  measures 
for  the  encouragement  and  effectual  protection  of  its  authors, 
which  it  seems  possible  to  secure  by  means  of  an  international 
copyright  only. 

The  principle  of  the  rights  of  property  is  established  upon  so 
firm  a  basis,  that  it  is  considered  the  **  key-stone  of  the  arch  of 
society. "  Is  it  not  most  important  that  this  principle  should  em- 
brace, under  its  protective  provisions,  all  glasses  of  property 
equally  and  impartially? 

Now  when  a  violation  of  these  rights  becomes  so  palpable  an 
injustice  that  it  outrages  a  large  and  most  influential  class  of  our 
population, — for  as  Mr.  Carlyle  says,  "  as  it  is  the  spiritual  always 
that  determines  the  material,"  the  men  of  letters  must  be  regarded 
as  a  most  important  class  of  our  population  —  does  not  every 
sentiment  of  honor,  every  principle  of  justice  call  for  a  reconstruc- 
tion of  legislation,  better  adapted  to  the  protection  of  this  class  of 

In  1 8 19  a  copyright  law  seemed  to  American  writers  and  inven- 
tors necessary  to  the  protection  of  their  property  at  home,  and 


Congress  was  empowered  to  **  promote  the  progress  of  science 
and  the  useful  arts,  by  securing  for  a  limited  time  to  authors  and 
inventors  exclusive  rights  to  their  respective  writings  and  in- 

How,  we  would  ask,  has  Congress  "promoted  the  progress  of 
science,*' — which,  as  logicians  tell  us,  is  knowledge  in  theory  in 
contradistinction  to  art,  the  application  of  these  theories — when 
it  refuses  to  throw  around  our  struggling  literature  the  only  pro- 
tection, which  in  its  competition  with  older,  longer  established 
nations,  it  can  find,  in  the  international  copyright. 

On  February  2,  1837,  Mr.  Clay  presented  to  the  Senate,  a  me- 
morial signed  by  fifty-seven  English  authors,  representing  the 
"injury  to  their  reputation  and  property  by  need  of  a  law  to 
secure  to  them  within  the  United  States  the  exclusive  rights  to 
their  respective  writings,  '*  and  requesting  legislative  remedy. 

Mr.  Clay  very  properly  insisted  that  honor,  justice  and  even 
morality  demanded  the  passage  of  this  law,  and  urged  it  with  all 
the  power  of  his  matchless  eloquence,  closing  his  argument  with 
a  brilliant  tribute  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  "whose  writings,"  he  said, 
"were  dear  alike  to  our  country  as  to  England,  and  read  and  en- 
joyed from  Maine  to  Georgia,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Mississippi, 
and  yet  he  had  received  no  compensation  from  American  publish- 
ers for  his  labor,  where  an  equitable  remuneration  might  have 
saved  his  life,  made  his  genius  capable  of  greater  efforts,  and  re- 
lieved his  closing  hours  from  the  burden  of  debt  and  toil." 

We  maintain  that  the  necessity  for  an  international  copyright 
grows  more  and  more  imperative  every  day.  Our  best  men  become 
more  and  more  conscious  of  the  evil  effects  of  this  injustice  to  for- 
eign authors,  and  a  retributive  Nemesis,  which  follows  nations  as 
well  as  individuals,  already  comes  to  us  in  the  form  of  a  inferior 
national  literature. 

How  can  this  be  otherwise,  when  an  American  writer  finds  it 
almost  an  impossibility  to  dispose  of  his  literary  work,  with  the 
splendid  literature  of  other  nations  attainable  at  little  or  no  ex- 
pense? Thoroughness  and  efficiency  in  literary  work  are  the 
result  of  years  of  study,  possibly  of  severe  privations,  and  in  giv- 
ing our  young  literati  increased  protection,  we  obligate  them  to 
strive  for  greater  excellence. 


In  1838.  Mr.  Edward  Everett  Hale  memorialized  Congress,  set- 
ting forth  the  impolitic  as  wcH  as  unjust  construction  of  our  law, 
and  asking  that  it  be  made  international.  This  called  forth  many 
counter  petitions  from  publishers  and  booksellers,  which  caused 
its  failure. 

Even  at  this  remote  date  we  blush  to  quote  the  principal  objec- 
tion, that,  incorporated  into  the  printed  report  sent  forth  to  the 
world,  to  our  great  discredit,  —  "by  the  enactment  of  an  inter- 
national copyright  law  in  favor  of  British  authors,  the  profits  of 
trade  and  manufacture,  and  all  the  benefits  arising  from  encourage- 
ment to  national  industry,  would  be  for  us  ON  THE  WRONG  SIDE  of 
the  ledger." 

Oh  !  short-sighted  legislators  I  Our  civilization,  though  a  mag- 
nificent fabric,  is  little  worth  without  the  spirituality  of  sentiments 
of  justice  and  integrity.  With  a  traditional  sensitiveness  upon 
most  questions  affecting  our  national  or  individual  honor,  we  were 
willing  to  say  to  the  world,  "  this  government  is  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  extend  to  foreigners  exclusive  copyright  privileges." 

Human  law  unhappily  finds  it  difficult  to  adjust  antagonistic 
claims  arising  from  different  interests;  we  cannot  legislate  to  de- 
stroy the  motive  of  self-interest,  for  that  we  are  told  is  the  founda- 
tion of  material  progress;  but  here,  by  a  singular  paradox,  that 
hectic  of  demagogism  "the  best  interests  of  the  masses"  and 
justice  become  identical. 

We  make  ethics  a  chief  study  in  our  schools  and  universities,  it 
is  ingrained  with  our  Latin  and  Greek  classics,  we  ally  it  with  poli- 
tical science,  making  the  latter,  in  its  close  relation  to  it,  synony- 
mous in  the  framing  of  laws  of  government  for  the  continuance  of 
our  dignity  and  prosperity,  and  yet  the  syllogistic  conclusion  that 
"  right  is  right, "  in  spite  of  all  specious  arguments,  was  never  more 
applicable  than  in  this  question  of  the  rights  of  both  foreign  and 
domestic  authors  to  the  protection  of  the  international  copyright. 

In  1842,  Mr.  Clay  again  introduced  his  bill ;  in  the  same  year, 
Mr.  Irving;  in  1843,  Mr.  Rufus  Choate;  in  1848,  Mr.  John  Jay; 
in  1852,  Mr.  Sumner;  and  in  1866,  Mr.  John  P.  Baldwin,  of  Massa- 
chusetts ;  demonstrating  conclusively  the  growing  demand  for  this 
act  of  justice  to  foreigners,  and  protection  for  American  writers. 

Washington  Irving,  in  1842,  writes  to  the  editor  of  the  Knicker- 


bocker  Magazine,  citing  a  most  flagrant  instance  of  injustice  done 
to  an  American  author,  a  friend  of  his,  just  embarking  upon  the  sea 
of  literary  life,  whose  works  the  publishers  declined  to  accept  upon 
the  plea,  that  "they  could  pick  and  choose  among  the  successful 
works  daily  poured  out  by  the  British  press,  for  which  they  had 
nothing  to  pay  for  copyright. " 

Should  not  such  a  statement  as  this  at  once  have  awakened  our 
legislators  to  the  necessity  of  most  rigid  protective  measures  for 
our  American  writers?  Objecting  strongly  to  communistic  prin- 
ciples as  regards  material  property,  should  we  not  as  strenuously 
oppose  the  agrarian,  who  would  seize  upon  the  more  sacred  pos- 
sessions of  mental  labor,  and  recognize  no  distinction  of  MEUM  and 
TUUM.  There  is  unfortunately  no  mechanism  for  the  writer  as  for 
the  inventor,  which  often  enables  him  to  make  his  work  useless  to 
others  unless  he  will  furnish  them  the  key  to  unclose  its  treasures. 

In  1873,  the  subject  was  very  generally  discussed  in  both  Great 
Britain  and  the  United  States;  and  in  referring  to  Mr.  MorriU's 
adverse  report  in  the  Senate,  we  find,  that  while  he  concedes,  that 
"  both  American  and  foreign  authors  are  understood  to  be  agreed, 
as  well  as  the  most  important  portion  of  American  publishers,*' 
yet  (to  continue  in  the  words  of  the  report,)  "the  printers,  type 
founders,  binders,  paper  makers  and  others  engaged  in  the  manu- 
facture of  books,  remonstrate  against  the  measure,  as  calculated  to 
diminish  the  popular  sale  and  circulation  of  books,  by  raising  the 
price  thereof,  and  thus  prejudicial  to  this  branch  of  industry." 

By  what  claim  of  justice  or  reason,  we  ask,  would  one  branch  of 
national  industry  expect  to  grow  prosperous,  or  find  employment, 
at  the  expense  of  another  and  more  exalted  one,  without  which 
they  would  not  have  the  elemental  material  for  their  peculiar  in- 
dustry? It  is  an  irrefutable  fact  of  political  economy,  that  the 
most  intolerant  agrarian  becomes  a  conservative  the  moment  he  has 
anything  to  conserve.  Let  these  same  printers,  type  founders  and 
binders  become  popular  authors,  and  where  would  we  find  more 
zealous  partisans  for  an  international  copyright? 

In  unreflecting  obedience  to  the  popular  cry,  our  legislators  tell 
us  that  it  will  diminish  the  circulation  and  advance  the  price  of 
books.  Would  it  not  be  a  great  advantage  to  the  majority  of  our 
young  readers  if  most  of  the  light  literature  o(  the  day  was  unat- 


tainable?  Statistics  show  that  works  on  science  and  art  are  not 
now  materially  cheaper  here  than  in  England,  and  are  rarely  found 
in  cheap  editions.  Our  public  libraries  increase  in  number  and 
size  every  year,  and  make  all  these  works  accessible  to  those  who 
cannot  buy  them.  We  are  told  that  "the  masses  of  the  people 
and  buyers  do  not  ask  it."  They  have  never  been  appealed  to, 
and  we  feel  so  assured  of  their  strict  sense  of  justice  and  honor  as 
a  people,  that  we  are  prepared  to  say,  that  the  supporters  of  this 
argument  are  misled  by  their  construction  of  the  advantages  to 
what  are  termed  "  the  masses."  To  a  nation  of  honorable  men  the 
stigma  of  "  literary  piracy  "  is  a  source  of  constant  mortification. 
We  know  of  a  very  popular  English  writer,  who  is  so  prejudiced 
against  Americans  on  this  account,  that  she  has  repeatedly  refused 
to  meet  them.  Are  we  to  be  like  the  professional  prophet,  '*  glad 
of  the  harm  that  gives  us  a  certain  credit?"  In  the  words  of 
Charles  Lamb,  "  Do  we  fear  to  find  repentance  for  a  good  action?" 
In  further  reporting  his  committee  Mr.  Morrill  said :  "  In  con- 
struing the  constitution,  reference  should  be  had  to  the  condition 
of  affairs  at  the  period  of  its  adoption."  Here  we  agree  with  the 
Senator;  as  at  the  time  of  the  framing  of  our  constitution  we 
had  no  literature,  it  was  not  necessary  to  legislate  upon  the 

This  committee  summed  up  the  conclusion  of  their  adverse  report 
in  these  words :  "  That  no  form  of  international  copyright  can  fairly 
be  urged  upon  Congress  upon  reasons  of  general  equity,  or  of  con- 
stitutional law." 

A  modern  writer,  in  asking  for  a  test  of  justice  and  benevolence, 
says :  "  It  is  with  the  man  who  has  the  public  ear,  and  uses  it  to 
the  advantage  of  the  poor  fellows  who  may  be  hindered  of  their 
dues,  if  their  pretensions  are  treated  with  scorn."  Must  we  not 
then  ask  of  our  legislators,  who  more  than  any  one  else  have  the 
public  ear,  to  use  every  advantage  for  the  benefit  of  our  authors, 
than  whom  no  class  are  more  "  hindered  of  their  dues,"  or  persis- 
tently denied  just  compensation  for  their  labor? 

No  philosophic  reasoning  will  enable  us  to  find  a  present  good 
in  a  long  tolerated  evil.  There  are  times  when  under  the  most 
abnormal  circumstances,  instinct  and  aspiration  seek  to  evolve 
from  the  mistakes  of  the  past  a  blessing  for  the  future. 


Already  a  decadence  in  our  literature  is  apparent ;  most  of  our 
brilliant  writers  of  the  last  generation  are  passing  away,  and  where 
will  we  find  others  to  fill  their  places?  Where  will  we  look  for 
our  Websters,  our  Clays  and  Calhouns,  our  Prescotts,  Motleys  and 
Bancrofts,  our  Drapers,  Emersons,  Irvings,  Hawthornes,  Coopers, 
our  Longfellows  and  Whittiers?  We  see  but  little  promise  in  our 
young  literature  of  to-day  of  doing  so  under  the  most  favorable 
auspices.  No  one  can  deny  that  our  sources  of  intellectual  growth 
would  have  a  long  needed  stimulus,  and  that  its  tone  would  be 
commensurately  elevated  by  proper  protection.  Carlyle,  in  his 
**  Hero  Worship,**  speaks  so  pathetically  of  the  author,  **  ruling 
from  his  grave  after  death  whole  nations  and  generations,  who 
would  not  give  him  bread  while  living."  In  speaking  of  Dr. 
Samuel  Johnson,  he  says :  "  The  largest  soul  in  all  England,  and 
provision  made  for  it  of  fourpence  half-penny  a  day  !*'  Now  that 
the  subject  is  more  generally  understood  and  discussed,  we  feel 
assured  of  the  ultimate  passage  of  the  bill.  Our  own  Congress  is 
making  a  more  earnest  effort  in  that  direction,  and  the  Gladstone 
Government  introduced  a  bill  into  the  House  of  Commons  to  carry 
into  effect  the  terms  of  the  convention  of  Berne  last  September. 
The  Queen  is  authorized,  by  order  in  council  to  direct,  that,  as 
regards  literary  and  artistic  works  first  published  in  a  foreign 
country,  the  author  shall  have  copyright  therein,  for  a  period  not 
exceeding  the  period  for  which  authors  are  given  a  copyright  in 
Great  Britain. 

This  is  of  course  to  be  reciprocal ;  it  is  to  be  hoped,  that  the 
provision  of  Senator  Hawley's  bill  now  before  our  Congress,  re- 
quiring the  republication  of  foreign  works  in  this  country,  will  not 
exclude  us  from  the  benefits  of  this  bill  should  it  become  a  law. 
The  bill  is  said,  in  principle,  to  be  very  much  the  same  as  that 
introduced  by  a  New  York  member  of  the  Forty-Eighth  Con- 
gress, and  which  the  Judiciary  Committee  unanimously  reported 
favorably ;  but  a  motion  to  suspend  the  rules  and  pass  the  bill 
failed  of  its  two-thirds  vote,  though  a  large  majority  of  the  mem- 
bers voted  in  its  favor. 

In  our  political  blessings  we  have  so  much  for  which  to  thank 
the  spirit  of  noble  self-abnegation  of  our  forefathers,  our  independ- 
ence and  liberty   of  person,  the   institutions  which   give  us  our 


honorable  place  among  nations,  all  won  for  us  by  their  swords. 
A  modem  writer  tells  us  truly  that  "  the  eminence,  the  nobleness 
of  a  people,  depend  on  its  capability  of  being  stirred  by  memories, 
and  of  striving  for  what  are  called  spiritual  ends," — ends  which 
consist,  not  in  immediate  material  possessions,  but  in  the  satisfac- 
tion of  a  great  feeling,  a  consciousness  of  noble  justice. 

Shall  not  we  of  this  generation  bequeath  these  spiritual  ends, — 
for  justice  and  right  are  indeed  spiritual — as  a  heritage  to  our  de- 
scendants, and  give  them  an  honorable  place  among  the  world's 
scholars?  Side  by  side  with  the  memories  of  our  forefather's 
struggles  with  the  sword  for  national  existence,  let  us  leave  those 
of  our  struggles  with  the  pen  for  a  national  literature, — ^which  we 
are  told  is  the  only  part  of  a  nation's  glory  that  survives  its 
physical  destruction. 


BY    IDA   A.    AHLBORN. 

The  peaks  of  light  lay  in  her  view, 
Their  glory  flames  the  verses  through ; 
And  still  you  feel  her  question  you : 

Is  God? 



His  greatness  is  a  faith  sublime, 
That  sees  beyond  all  space  and  time 
And  sings  through  measure  and  through  rh3ntne 

God  is. 





As  Goethe,  the  German  poet  and  philosopher,  says  the  sim- 
plest pleasures  are  the  more  lasting,  so  may  it  be  true  that  the 
plants  we  thoughtlessly  trample  under  our  feet  yield  a  fragrance, 
whose  place  in  the  associations  the  rarest  odors  of  rich  exotics  can 
never  successfully  dispute. 

A  weed  is  ordinarily  a  thing  to  be  pulled  up  and  flung  away. 
Yet  of  the  list  of  weeds  that  are  familiar  by  their  names  to  the  ear, 
what  one  is  there  that,  on  being  mentioned,  cannot  start  some  of 
the  happiest  of  human  thoughts  and  remembrances?  Weeds  are 
so  homely  and  unassuming  that  they  root  themselves  in  the  heart 
as  they  do  by  the  roadside  and  in  the  garden.  They  bear  the 
most  endeared  of  familiar  names,  too.  They  are  indigenous; 
savoring  of  soil  and  locality  together ;  suggestive  of  domestic  and 
individual  experience ;  and  in  close  sympathy  with  the  common 
life  of  man.  This  it  is  that  keeps  them  so  fast  in  the  affections, 
even  when  they  are  confessedly  obstructive  and  worthless.  A 
catalogue  that  should  give  the  names  of  all  the  weeds  with  which 
we  have  an  acquaintance  from  our  childhood,  would  kindle  far 
more  pleasure  in  the  thought  than  a  companion  schedule  of  for- 
eign plants  with  invertebrate  botanical  titles,  slow  in  the  pronun- 
ciation and  quick  to  be  forgotten. 

The  names  of  weeds  are  poetic,  for  the  reason  that  they  have  a 
human  rather  than  a  scientific  signification.  They  are  plants  that 
grow  by  our  doorsteps,  about  the  sink  drain,  along  the  roadside, 
in  the  trodden  paths,  and  always  just  where  we  are  most  likely  to 
meet  them.  They  are  common.  We  like  them  without  thinking 
why,  and,  like  the  friends  of  childhood  and  youth,  we  cherish  them 
when  we  are  unconscious  of  it.  The  gentle  Cordelia  knew  her 
father  was  "as  mad  as  the  vex'd  sea,"  because  she  saw  him  com- 
ing crowned,  not  with  laurels  or  the  honored  growths  of  the  garden, 


—  **  With  rank  fumiter  and  furrow  weeds, 
With  hoar-docks,  hemlock,  nettles,  cuckoo-flowers, 
Darnel,  and  all  the  idle  weeds  that  grow 
In  our  sustaining  corn." 

Even  then  the  weed  was  esteemed  a  worthless  thing.  In  his 
moments  of  real  or  affected  despondency,  Byron  can  think  of 
nothing  with  which  to  liken  his  life  but  a  fruitless  weed,  flung  by 
the  ocean  on  a  rock.  But  nature  works  faultlessly  with  her  com- 
pensations. We  may  despise  these  humble  harvests  of  unwel- 
come sowing,  yet  the  sweat  which  is  the  cost  of  their  eradication 
is  nothing  like  the  sweat  of  many  another  burden  we  are  called  to 
bear ;  and  it  may  be  disputed  in  all  seriousness  whether  their  sub- 
missive way  of  asking  hospitality  of  us  does  not  turn  the  edge  of 
our  hostility.  Weeds,  moreover,  are  among  the  very  few  things 
in  this  world  that,  though  in  sheer  wantonness  we  destroy  them, 
never  fail  of  recompensing  us  for  our  pains  with  no  less  generous 
a  supply.  We  may  continue  cutting  them  up  forever,  but  they 
will  keep  coming  all  the  thicker  and  assert  themselves  with  a  still 
more  submissive  persistency. 

Strolling  across  lots,  beyond  the  confines  of  gardens  and 
orchards,  they  greet  me  in  populous  and  thrifty  colonies.  The  very 
thistle  that  is  the  farmer's  special  aversion,  suggests  on  the  instant 
the  crest  of  Scotland  and  the  purple  of  old  Tyre,  while  it  offers  its 
couch  of  down  to  the  morning  bee  to  wallow  in.  To  him  it  is  the 
bed  of  royalty  itself,  with  the  brightness  of  the  sky  to  tint  its 
tapestries  and  gild  its  canopy.  The  nettle  that  I  see  growing  by 
the  edge  of  the  stone-heap  suggests  the  poet's  immortal  strawberry 
underneath.  Its  sting  is  resentful,  but  so  minute  a  set  of  spines 
successfully  defends  its  graceful  stateliness  and  leafy  dignity.  Path- 
weed  is  a  plain  plant,  which,  with  hardhack,  dogtoes,  motherwort, 
spearmint,  and  balm,  binds  up  in  the  recollection  with  those  fra- 
grant decoctions  or  savory  compresses  which  so  soothe  provoking 
ailments  in  midwinter. 

Next,  I  leap  the  fence  or  the  wall,  and  strike  across  toward  the 
wood.  In  its  half-shadows  springs  up  a  family  of  untutored 
plants,  hardly  to  be  named  as  weeds,  though  their  native  allies  on 
the  score  of  commonness.     There  is  spearmint  and  pennyroyal, 


that  in  their  gathered  bunches  will  make  an  upper  chamber  fra- 
grant with  wood-thoughts  from  harvest  time  to  planting.  There  is 
elecampane,  and  princess  pine,  and  bloodroot,  and  wake-robin, 
and  gold-thread,  and  meadow  rue ;  squirrel  corn,  and  Solomon's 
seal ;  bellwort,  and  a  host  more,  to  entice  the  feet  of  one  who  finds 
companionship  in  pleasant  associations  into  the  sequestered  wood 
paths  across  which  the  hen  partridge  troops  her  shy  brood  in  the 
early  days  of  autumn. 

By  the  roadside  grow  yarrow  and  tansy,  and  all  manner  of 
herbs  that  rank  with  the  weeds;  vervain,  mullein,  brake,  —  all 
worthless  practically,  yet  precious  from  the  habit  of  association, 
that  affectionately  invite  familiar  feet  to  trample  them  without 
hesitation,  dressing  the  old  country  ditches  and  stony  banks  along 
the  roads  with  their  grateful  greenery ;  alluring  the  thoughts  to 
the  homeliest  hospitalities ;  self-supporting ;  waiting  on  the  bounty 
of  no  cultivator's  hand ;  a  largess  of  nature  herself;  and  a  hint  of 
plenty  where  poverty  alone  is  mistakenly  suppose^  to  reign.  If 
we  had  the  seeing  eyes  to  discover  the  true  beauty  that  is  folded 
away  in  a  roadside  weed  as  well  as  in  the  aristocratic  scion  of  the 
hot-house,  there  would  be  no  such  idle  impatience  that  God  had 
not  distributed  the  wealth  of  His  creation  in  a  spirit  of  more 
equal  profusion.  And  what  and  who  are  we,  that  we  presume  to 
compute  the  comparative  value  of  weeds  and  exotics,  and  to  rate 
them  according  to  our  near-sighted  and  fantastic  rules  of  rank  and 
vegetable  royalty ! 

The  native  nursery  of  the  weed  is  the  garden.  There  it  waxes 
fat  almost  with  impunity,  defying  the  sharpest  blades  and  the  most 
diligent  hands.  It  springs  up  along  the  alleys  and  walks,  runs  in 
and  out  the  rows  of  nascent  vegetables,  derides  you  quietly  at 
evening  when  you  walk  forth  in  the  cool  of  the  day  to  glory  in  your 
morning  accomplishment,  and  seems  imperturbably  resolved  to 
maintain  its  footing  both  as  the  domestic  man's  companion  and 
tormentor.  Bless  the  faithful  persistency  of  these  friendly  weeds 
in  the  garden  !  There  are  none  to  speak  a  kindly  word  for  them, 
and  I  will  fain  pluck  up  the  courage  to  do  it  myself.  It  is  not 
uttered,  of  course,  as  a  cultivator,  but  as  a  lover  of  all  that  rejoices 
to  live  on  the  fruitful  bosom  of  our  common  mother.  The  pusley 
is  an  admitted  nuisance  and  pest ;  the  little  chickweed  mats  the 


ground  with  a  damp  barrenness;  the  vigorous  dock  and  veiny 
plantain  sprout  along  the  course  of  the  drain  with  a  luxuriant 
confidence  that  all  but  defies  the  uprooting  hand ;  and,  from  gate 
to  summer-house,  and  from  paling  to  back-wall,  there  is  a  multi- 
tudinous host  of  intrusive  visitors, "  creeping,  creeping  everywhere," 
now  boldly  coming  forward  into  sight  and  showing  their  strength, 
and  now  shying  in  among  the  concealments  of  the  vegetable  over- 
growth, but,  without  the  trouble  they  make,  certain  to  be  sadly 
missed,  even  as  one  might  sensibly  lament  a  sentiment  vanished 
from  his  heart. 

Sore  visitors  as  they  are,  though  nowise  comparable  to  the 
parasites  that  prey  on  vegetation  and  fruit,  and  so  blamably  bent 
as  they  are  on  choking  the  more  valuable  growths,  they  neverthe- 
less do  somehow  make  to  themselves  friends  among  those  who 
indulge  mainly  in  recreations  at  their  presence.  And  I  verily  be- 
lieve that  if  a  homesick  exile  from  his  dear  garden-spot  were  to  sit 
down  to  a  chapter  of  lamentations  over  the  departed  happiness  of 
a  loved  occupation,  he  would  not  forget,  in  his  affectionate  enum- 
eration of  familiar  plants,  the  very  Weeds,  vile  as  we  call  them, 
over  which  so  much  toil  was  yearly  spent  to  so  little  effective 



Hills  to  the  North !  where,  a  slumbering  lion, 
Tobey  lies  couched  in  his  carven  pride, — 

Unto  eternity  your  inspiration 
For  the  beholder  still  shall  abide. 

Oft  have  I  wandered  your  mighty  sides  over. 
Felt  the  wild  vigor  your  summit  gives. 

Climbed  o'er  your  rocky  spurs,  roamed  through 
your  gorges, 
Lived  the  sweet  life  that  a  dreamer  lives. 


Hills  to  the  East !  where  the  early  arbutus 
Tenderly  trails  o'er  your  pastured  lands, 

Where,  with  its  glory  and  crowning  of  spruces^ 
High  o'er  the  Orient,  Pisgah  stands. 

Hills  to  the  South  ?  your  most  beautiful  ramparts 
Come  to  my  eyes  whene'er  I  recall 

Blessed  old  Amherst, — my  dear  Alma  Mater, 
Happy  art  thou  in  thy  Southern  wall. 

Like  a  high  soul,  that  from  struggle  and  sorrow 

Gaineth  a  sweetness  more  pure  and  fine. 
So  hath  this  rampart,  ice-worn  and  storm  riven, 

Grown  to  a  loveliness  more  divine. 


Hills  to  the  West !  but  a  curtain  of  beauty 

Suddenly  rises  before  mine  eyes. 
For  on  the  nearer  and  dearer  horizon 

Views  of  the  College  of  love  arise. 

I  can  not  look  to  those  far  away  hill-tops. 

When  in  the  interval  thou  art  seen. 
Beautiful  Hampton  !  the  queen  of  the  valley,— 
Amherst,  the  prince,  saluteth  its  queen. 

Lo  !  it  is  sunset ;  again  I  am  standing 
On  the  high  look-out  of  college  tower ; 

Over  the  meadows  the  bell  of  old  Hadley 
Soflly  proclaimeth  the  twilight  hour. 

Up  to  the  North  where  Sugar-loaf  mountain 
Raises  its  table-bluff  stem  and  bold. 

Loveliest  monarchs  of  light  and  of  darkness 
Seem  to  be  laying  their  cloth  of  gold. 

Thus  while  the  waning  light  falls  upon  Amherst, 
The  hills  round  about  in  their  glory  stand, — 

Happy  old  Amherst,  they  fitly  may  symbol 

Thy  beauty  and  strength,  that  is  still  more  grand. 




"  Along'  the  varying  road  of  life. 
In  calm  content,  in  toil  or  strife, 
At  morn  or  noon,  hy  night  or  da/ 
Ae  time  conducts  him  on  his  way. 
How  oft  doth  man  hy  core  oppressed 
Find  at  an  inn  a  place  of  rest!  " 

Pre-eminent  among  those  institutions  whose  existences  are  sacri- 
ficed to  the  innovation  of  the  railroad  is  the  tavern,  or  inn.  In  the 
old  world  and  in  the  new,  the  tavern  has  always  been  the  rendez- 
vous where  the  village  joker  and  wit  were  wont  to  meet  and  keep 
their  fireside  audiences  in  good  humor  by  happy  jest  or  wondrous 
story.  It  was  also  the  delightful  retreat  where  the  Rip  Van  Winkle 
—  or  hen-pecked  husband  —  of  the  neighborhood  found  sweet  re- 
spite from  the  "strifeof  tongues  "of  the  irate,  and,  sometimes,  long- 
suffering  wife  at  home.  The  latest  gossips  always  found  ready 
listeners  there;  and  from  its  hospitable  hearth  there  went  out  over 
the  invisibie  wires,  that  seem  to  thread  every  country  community, 
the  most  reliable  and  trustworthy  information  possible  about  every- 
body and  everything. 

But  alas !  for  the  old  time  inn  with  its  jollity  and  good  cheer. 
How  rapidly  it  is  becoming  a  thing  of  the  past !  The  hotel,  with 
"  all  the  modern  improvements, "  has,  by  a  very  natural  evolution, 
displaced  it.  A  melancholy,  tenantless  ghost  of  itself,  along  some 
little-used  country  road,  or  some  modernized  fragment  in  a  now 
thriving  young  town,  is  about  all  there  is  to  be  found,  by  our 
rapidly  changing  civilization,  of  the  old  time  inn. 

At  the  period  when  the  inn  stood  recognized  among  the  estab- 
lishments for  promoting  good-will  towards  man,  England  was  the 
most  famous  country  as  regards  the  number  of  them;  but  while 
America  lacked  in  numbers,  its  inns  failed  naught  in  the  quality 
of  their  good  cheer  and  wit. 

It  seemed  therefore  that  it  would  be  a  source  of  much  delight  to 
visit  one  of  those  ancient  hostleries  before  it  shall  have  succumbed 


to  the  inevitable  decrees  of  time.     Thus  thinking,  I,  one  day  in 
autumn,  made  a  journey  to  the  old  "  Wayside  Inn,  at  Sudbury." 

About  an  hour's  ride  on  the  Massachusetts  Central  Railroad 
brought  us  to  the  ancient  town  of  Sudbury,  on  the  outskirts  of 
which  we  meet  the  old  Boston  and  Worcester  turnpike,  —  over 
which,  but  a  generation  ago,  the  stage-coach  lumbered  twice  a 
week,  conveying  travellers  and  the  mail. 

As  we  walk  along  this  road,  the  rare  beauty  of  the  surround- 
ing country  calls  forth  our  admiration  and  adoration.  Such  a 
scene  as  this  met  our  eyes  !  Far  to  the  left,  beyond  sloping  land 
and  hollows,  Mount  Nobscot  and  the  hills  of  Middlesex  arise  amid 
draperies  of  purpling  mist;  woodland  stretches,  over  which  the 
year  has  thrown  the  autumn  garment  embellished  with  tinges  of 
the  deep  red  and  brown  of  the  oak,  the  rich  yellow  of  the  maple, 
with  here  and  there  an  inlay  of  green  pines.  From  our  right 
winds  and  glides,  serpent-like,  through  the  far  expanse  of  moist, 
brown  meadow-land,  the  Sudbury  river,  bearing  silvery  gleams. 
And  withal  a  softening  haze  pervades  the  whole  country  about. 
Thus  we  travel,  allured  by  the  finery  of  nature ;  and  the  more  we 
study  and  admire,  the  more  our  orisons  go  forth  to  her,  that  we 
may  have  a  better  conception  of  her  wonderful,  changing  self. 

Suddenly  we  are  disturbed  in  our  devotions  and  musings  by  the 
abrupt  curving  of  the  road ;  and  we  emerge  from  the  labyrinthine 
way  into  an  open  space,  where  first  meets  the  eye  the  mansion  so 
appropriately  named  by  Longfellow,  the  **  Wayside  Inn. "  The 
seclusion  of  this  tavern  is  favorable  to  meditation,  and  has  the 
admirable  effect  of  inducing  the  rarest  pleasures  of  fantasy  and 
sentiment.  It  is  surrounded  by  great  oaks,  which,  although  having 
lived  at  least  t>\'o  hundred  and  fifty  years,  still  retain  their  majesty 
and  stretch  forth  their  branches,  whose  "  race  of  leaves'*  dishevelled 
by  the  wind  throw  about  fluttering  shadows  during  the  happy  day- 
time, and  at  night,  a  strange,  sombrous  gloom.  But  as  "  change 
doth  unknit  the  tranquil  strength  of  man,"  so  of  trees;  these  — 
the  tutelary  spirits  of  the  inn  —  by  the  climatic  changes  of  many 
years,  show  the  rough  and  wrinkled  skin  of  old  age.  **  Knotted 
with  age,  yet  beautiful "  they  stand.  •*  preserved  through  many  a 
year  by  the  reverence  of  our  forefathers.  " 

The  building  has  few  architectural  details.    It  is  a  large,  gabled- 


roof,  clapboarded  house,  three  stories  high,  flanked  on  either  side 
by  an  ell.  It  has  no  less  then  seventy-nine  windows,  out  of  every 
one  of  which  beamed  good  cheer  and  welcome  in  former  days, — 
but  now  coldness. 

Before  we  seek  admittance  over  the  ancient  threshold,  —  for  the 
doors  are  not  now  thrown  open  to  the  general  public  as  once  they 
were  so  freely  —  let  us  sit  down  under  the  branches  of  one  of 
these  glorious  oaks,  and  review  somewhat  of  the  past  history  of 
the  house  and  those  who  were  its  hosts. 

This  building,  as  a  tavern,  (it  is  the  oldest  in  the  country),  with- 
stood and  defied  the  fitful  blasts  and  thundering  storms,  snows 

and  frost-^,  fur  tu-;irl;-  Iwn  Ci^ntiirit.-;.  ]ia\'in„  !—i:  ■.■;... .i.J  ■_■  u,-.' 
public  in  the  year  1686,  by  David  Howe,  and  was  retained  by  four 
generations  of  that  family.  Thus  it  was  that  it  was  first  named 
"The  Howe  Tavern,  at  Sudbury.  " 

Colonel  Ezekiel  Howe,  the  son  and  heir  of  David,  came  into 
possession  of  it  at  his  father's  death  in  \7^6.  It  was  during  the 
rule  of  the  Colonel,  (who,  by  the  way,  was  a  great  dignitary  in 
those  days),  that  the  "  sign  of  the  red  horse '  was  first  displayed, 
from  which  circumstance  the  name  of  the  inn  was  changed  from 
that  of  "The  Howe  Tavern,  at  Sudbury,"  to  that  of  "The  Red 
Horse  Tavern,  "  —  which  name  distinguished  it  from  "  The  White 


Horse, "  at  Boston,  and  "  The  Black  Horse,"  at  Marlboro*.  In 
1796,  the  Colonel  died,  having  been  landlord  some  sixty  years. 
The  inn  then  came  into  the  possession  of  his  son,  Adam,  wha 
held  control  forty  years,  then  died;  at  whose  death  his  son 
Lyman  took  up  the  "  reins  of  government, "  and  carried  on  the^ 
tavern  until  i860;  when  there  being  no  longer  use  for  it,  —  the| 
stage-coach  having  given  way  to  the  railroad  —  its  doors  were 
closed  upon  a  public  which  had  ever  esteemed  this  public  house 
superior  to  all  others  in  this  country. 

The  hospitality  of  such  a  place  was  of  course  proverbial. 

At  the  termination  of  its  career,  the  old  sign  bore  on  one  side 
the  painting  of  the  prancing  red  horse,  and  on  the  other  the  ini- 
tials of  the  past  tavern-keepers  (except  Lyman),  with  the  dates 
of  the  beginning  of  the  possession  of  each,  viz. : 

D.  H.,   1686. 

E.  H.,   1746. 
A.  Howe,   1796. 

During  both  the  French  and  Indian  and  the  Revolutionar)r 
wars,  the  Red  Horse  Tavern  was  greatly  desired,  by  the  soldiers, 
as  a  resting  place ;  the  chief  reason  being,  I  suppose,  because  of 
its  reputation  of  having  the  best  liquor  of  any  of  its  contempor- 

Let  us  now  lift  the  great  brass  knocker  and  seek  admittance. 
The  lady  in  charge,  being  informed  of  our  desire  to  see  the  inte- 
rior, kindly  admits  us. 

On  entering  we  are  confronted  by  a  wide  hall  running  through 
the  basement  floor  from  portal  to  portal,  with  spacious  rooms  orf 
either  side. 

We  enter  first  a  large,  square,  low-studded  room,  with  wain- 
scotted  walls,  and  ceiling  supported  by  great,  rough-hewn  oak 
beams.  This  was  known  as  the  "best  room,"  or  parlor.  It  is 
stripped  of  many  of  its  ancient  accoutrements,  but  the  great  fire- 
place still  remains ;  on  whose  hearth,  when  the  fire  burned  with  all 
its  wonted  glow,  how  many  vagaries  and  fancies  were  created 
within  the  souls  of  the  illustrious  ones  who  mused  in  its  fire- 
light !     For  was  it  not  from  such  a  sight  that  Longfellow  wrote  ?  — 

"  The  fire-light,  shedding  o'er  all 

The  splendor  of  its  ruddy  glow, 

Filled  the  whole  parlor,  large  and  low." 



The  lines  cut  on  the  window-panes  by  that  old  tarred-and-feath- 
ered  loyalist.  Major  Molineux,  are  still  exhibited.  On  one  of 
the  panes  is  cut  the  following  rhyme, — 

"What  do  you  think? 
Here  is  good  drink  ! 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  it. 
If  not  in  haste,  stop  and  taste, 
You  merry  folks  will  show  it." 

■On  the  other  pane  is  cut  the  author's  name  and  the  date,  viz.; 

"Wm.   Molineux,  Jr.,  Esq. 
24  June.   1774,  Boston." 

A  copy  of  the  original  Howe  coat-of-arms  is  displayed  hanging 
over  the  fire-place.  Over  the  crest,  interwoven  among  scrolls, 
leaves  and  heraldic  devices,  painted  in  lively  hues,  the  following 
genealogy  is  inscribed : 

"Creation  of  The  most  Noble  &  Puissant,  Ld,  Charl,,  How  E'- 
of  Lancaster  &  Br.  of  How  of  Wormleighton  1st  commis^  of 
y*  Treasury,  1st  Gent'-  of  y'-  bedchamb'-  to  his  Maj.  Kt.  of 
y='  garter  &  one  of  y^  Gov"-  of  y'-  Charte'-  house.  Great''-  Bt. 
How  of  Worm,  toll  in  y*-  country  of  Warwick  Nov''  18,  1606  in 
y^  4lh  of  James  y'-  ist  &  E^  of  Lancaster,  Jun,  y"  Sth,  1643  '" 
y'-  19th  of  Charl*'  y^*  1st,  of  this  fam^"  which  deriv'-  them- 
selv*'  from  a  young''  branch  of  y*-  ant'-  B''*'  How's  men  .... 
fam,  many  ages  Since  in  Eng"- among  which  were  Hugh  How  y*- 
father  &  Son  great  faver"*-  of  K"-  E"*-  y"-  2^  J"  How  Esq' 
son  to  J"'  How  of  Hodinhull  in  y^'  country  of  Warw'' 
&c.,    &c.,    &c.,   &c.,    S:c.,    &c. 

Below  the  shield  the  scroll  reads.  "By  the  name  of  Howe,"  and 
below  this  scroll,  the  following  description  of  the  coat-of-arms  is 
written : 

Arms.  He  became  Gules  &  Chevron  Argent  between  3  cros 
croslets  &  3  wolfs  heads  of  y":  same  crest  on  a  wrath  a  Wyvern 
or  Drag"-  part  D.  per  pale  or  &  vert  perced  through  y^-  mouth 
w""  arow  by  y"-  Name  of  How.  y^  wolfs  are  y*-  fam*  arms, 
cros"-  for  Gt.  Accf-  done  by  y*-   ist  E.     &c.  &c.  &c. 

Lifting  the  old-fashioned  latch  by  a  great  brass  knob,  we  pull 
-open  the  heavy  oaken  door  and  tnrn  down  the  wide  hall-way,  but 

IHE   WAYSIDE  /.V.\\  AT  SC'DBC'/iV. 

arc  opposed   in  our  passage  by  a   large,  wooden,  five-bar   gate. 

This  gate  divided  the  private  from  the  public  quarters.  At  the 
end  of  the  hall  on  the 
left  we   enter  what  was 

1  the   "family   sitting- 

room"  of  four  genera- 
tions of  the  Howe 
family.  It  is  remarkable 
for  nothing  in  particular 
except  that  its  walls  are 
covered  with  a  curious 
kind  of  old-style  wall- 
paper. Otf  this  room 
is     a     long     apartment  | 

til     y^y\^     11  ^i       which   was    utilized   in 

Wfy^      >NJ^>         U       getting    up   great    din- 
1  Lji      *■      J^W  ^m.       "^"^^    ^°^    special    occa- 

"  "  sions.     From  the  right  ' 

of  the  hall  we  enter  the 
"family  dining   room," 
which,  like  most  of  the  , 
rooms  in  the  house,  is 
of  the  square  and  low- 
studded  style.  It  is  sup-' 
plied    with    two    spa-  I 
cious  pantries,  whose  "good  things"  were  kept  from  sight  and   , 
whose  appetizing  odors  were   kept  from  the  olfactory  organ  by 
the  old-fashioned   linglish  double   doors.       Off  this  room  is  the  I 
famous  t;ip-room,  a  rendezvous,  in  days  of  yore,  of  the    greatest 
conviviality.      Across  one  side  of  the  room  stretches  a  cavernous 
fire-place,  in  whose  mouth  great  fires  of  oak  burned.      Then  did 
"the  crackling  faggots  fly"  in  all  their  glory,  warming  both  the 
body  and  heart  of  those   gathered   about  it.       On   another  side  i 
stands  the  bar,  filled  up  with  a  wooden  portcullis,  which  could  be 
raised  or  lowered  at  will,  and  when  closed  drinks  could  be  passed 
under  it.      The  oak  flooring  of  this  room  has  been  worn  thinner   ' 
than  that  of  any  other  in  the  hostelry,  by  the  tread  of  nearly  two 
centuries.      Across  the  ceiling  the  great  beams  are  entirely  black- 
ened  by  steam   rising    from     innumerable    pots  of   "nut-brow«  J 



liquor."  There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  this  was  the  best  patron- 
ized place  in  the  whole  house;  and  the  several  hosts  must  have 
had  rules  similar  to  the  following  (which  were  found  in  an  old 
English  inn),  in  order  to  preserve  order  and  good  humor  in  the 
assemblings : 

"Call  frequently. 

Drink  moderately. 

Be  good  company. 

Part  friendly. 

Go  home  quietly. 

Let  these  lines  be  no  man's  sorrow, 

Pay  to-day  and  1  will  trust  to-morrow." 

We  now  ascend  to  the  second   story  by  a  short,  wide   flight  of 

creaking  stairs.     On  this  floor  is  the  "Old  Hall,"  which  was  used 


by  the  young  men  and  maidens  of  Sudbury  town  in  which  to  hold 
dancing  parties,  until,  as  years  increased,  and  likewise  dancers,  it 
proved  too  small:  and,  therefore,  the  "New  Hall"  was  built.  It 
is  about  twice  as  large  as  the  old  one.  and  was  added  seventy 
years  ago. 


The  next  point  of  interest  is  the  ''  La  Fayette  chambers."  The 
*  suite'  received  its  historic  appellation  from  the  supposed  fact 
that  La  Fayette  did  once  occupy  it  for  a  night.  The  walls  of  the 
rooms  are  covered  with  the  oldest  style  of  paper  hanging  found  in 
this  country,  known  as  the  "  blue  bell "  pattern.  The  figure  of  the 
blue  bell  flower  was  stamped  upon  small  squares  of  paper  by  hand, 
and  square  by  square  was  laboriously  placed  upon  the  wall.  The 
polished  oak  floors  have  been  highly  decorated  with  blue  and 
brown  flowers,  painted  in  diamond  checks. 

These  two  rooms,  making  the  suite,  were  the  only  apartments 
which  were  let  in  their  entirety,  and  were  accordingly  very  expen- 
sive. On  passing  into  the  next  room  we  have  a  specimen  of  those 
which  were  not  let  in  their  entirety.  This  room,  though  quite 
small,  was  supplied  with  five  beds,  each  of  which  was  supposed  to 
hold  at  least  two  individuals,  —  stage-drivers,  peddlers,  and  the 
common  lodgers  occupied  them.  This  chamber  is  easily  and 
quickly  accessible  from  the  tap-room  by  a  narrow  stairway,  and 
there  must  have  been  some  remarkable  manifestations  in  it,  when 
the  beds  were  occupied  by  a  goodly  number  of  "  half  spirited  " 
fellows,  who,  possibly,  had  been  driven  from  below  on  account  of 
their  too  great  hilarity,  and  who  thought  to  rid  themselves  of  the 
influences  of  Bacchus  in  the  *'  communion  of  the  drowsy  god," 
but  alas  !   could  not  "  commune  "  with  those  lethean  divinities. 

Ascending  another  flight  of  crazy  stairs  brings  us  to  the  old 
attic,  about  which  the  spiders  have  strewn  a  great  net-work  of  cob- 
webs. All  about  here  were  stretched  beds  innumerable,  which 
were  occupied  by  the  very  commonest  lodgers. 

There  is  an  old  room  up  here  known  as  the  **  grain  room,"  from 
the  fact  that  during  the  Indian  wars  the  grain  was  stored  here  to 
protect  it  from  the  savages.  Places  appear  in  the  floor  where 
great  cracks  have  been  covered  with  a  axe-hewn  boards,  pieces  of 
old  boot  leather,  and  cow-hide  which  never  saw  a  tannery;  and 
the  walls  are  honeycombed  with  great  holes,  made  by  the  rats. 

We  descended  the  three  flights  of  stairs,  which  cry  out  most 
pitiably  with  the  long-endured  burdens. 

We  pass  out  of  the  venerable  mansion  of  sublime  effluence,  which, 
with  its  traditions,  inspired  our  great  poet  to  write  those  delightful 
**  Tales  of  a  Wayside  Inn,"  which  will  ever  give  it  a  celebrity  and 



We  find  that  we  have  spent  a  memorable  afternoon ;  and  now 
the  sun  has  nearly  gone  to  rest,  and  it  is  the  time  when  the  mighty 
oaks  throw  their  sombrous  gloom  about. 

We  disappear  down  the  labyrinthine  road,  feeling  that  the  in- 
spirations which  wc  carry  away  shall  be  potent  enough  to  exorcise 
all  evil  or  inharmonious  spirits — thoughts  which  labor  to  mar  the 
happiness  which  we  find  in  exercising  good  fellowship  towards 
our  fellow  man. 

Looking  back  we  catch  a  farewell  glance  over  the  rising  brow  of 
a  hillock,  of  which  but  a  small  portion  is  seen,  darkened  in  the 

As  we  proceed  once  more  we  fancy  that  we  hear  rumblings  be- 
hind us,  and  instinctively  our  thoughts  seek  the  inn. 

We  .seem  to  see  the  ponderous  stage-coach  just  arrived.  We  hear 
the  great  commotion.     There  is  mine  jolly  old  host — Howe,  just 

come  forth  with  due  courtesy  to  greet  his  newly  arrived  guests. 
Through  the  open  doors  great  floods  of  light  proceed  from  the  tap- 
room, flecking  the  darkened  road.  Peals  of  merriment  come  from 
the  same  place,  and  are  lost  in  echoes  among  the  woods  opposite. 
Then  a  loud  blast  is  sounded  and  a  cheer  goes  up,  and  off  starts 
the  coach  again  for  Boston  town,  some  twenty  mites  beyond.  But 
ere  it  has  passed  beyond  the  meadows  a  suddenly  rising  mist  envel- 
opes it,  and  it  is  hurried,  as  truant,  back  to  the  ages  that  are 

Mine  was  a  day  well  spent  at  The  Red  Horse  Tavern,  or  The 
Wayside  Inn,  at  Sudbury  Town. 



Governor  Elect  of  Maine. 

New  England  is  fertile  in  strong  men ;  and,  like  her  geological 
surface  and  her  climate,  her  people  are  distinctive,  and  peculiarly 
her  own.  In  building  homes  in  the  wilderness,  the  fathers  and 
their  children  attained  large  development  of  mental  and  moral 
force,  which  the  law  of  heredity  soon  fixed  in  succeeding  genera- 
tions. This  robustness  of  character  —  shown  in  many  forms  of 
individuality —  is  as  manifest  to-day  as  ever,  and  is  a  potential 
factor  all  over  the  world ;  for  in  every  civilized  land  are  men  of 
New  England  ancestry,  distinguished  in  their  various  fields  of  ac- 
tivity for  intelligence,  enterprise,  and  high  moral  qualities.  Not 
alone  do  statesmen  and  scholars  give  a  country  its  eminence ;  New 
England  would  still  have  been  great  without  her  Webster  or  Long- 
fellow. The  tiller  of  the  soil  and  the  artisan  were  before  either, 
and  without  them  there  could  be  neither  statesman  nor  poet. 

The  subject  of  this  sketch  is  a  typical  New  England  business 
man,  —  a  product  of  the  grand  stimulative  and  educating  forces  of 
the  land  of  his  birth.  His  earliest  colonial  ancestor  of  whom  there 
is  public  record  was  Henry  Bodwell,  a  brave  soldier  in  King 
Philip's  war,  (1675).  His  father,  Joseph  Bodwell,  was  a  farmer  in 
Methuen,  Massachusetts,  and  occupied  with  his  family  for  many 
years  the  homestead  farm  at  the  mouth  of  Spigot  river.  His 
mother's  family  name  was  Howe ;  she  was  a  lady  of  culture  and 

Joseph  Robinson  Bodwell  was  born  June  18,  1 8 18.  After  the 
years  of  early  childhood,  like  most  farmers'  sons,  he  was  called  to 
the  work  of  the  farm.  It  was  in  this  school  of  manual  labor,  with 
toughened  hands,  skillful  in  the  use  of  the  simple  tools  of  hus- 
bandry, that  he  passed  his  youth  and  early  manhood.  As  all  the 
energy  of  the  hero  may  find  scope  in  the  cultivation  of  a  single 
farm,  so  has  New  England  homestead  training  ever  been  produc- 
tive of  the  qualities  that  make  distinguished  men  in  the  arena  of 


practical  life.  It  was  so  in  the  case  of  the  Methuen  farmer's  boy. 
Ruddy  in  health,  of  buoyant  spirits,  and  resolute  and  self-reliant 
for  whatever  work  or  enterprise  was  before  him,  he  early  showed 
that  superior  individuality  and  force  of  character  which  we  see  in 
the  mature  man.  While  attending  the  district  school —  that  grand 
institution  which,  to  so  many,  constitutes  the  whole  of  their  educa- 
tional privilege  —  he  earned  money  during  evenings  and  the  early 
mornings  by  making  shoes.  In  1838  he  purchased  in  connection 
with  his  father,  —  largely  with  his  own  earnings  —  a  farm  in  West 
Methuen,  and  with  filial  fidelity  aided  in  its  cultivation  until  his 
father's  death  in  1848. 

While  yet  a  farmer  he  took  the  steps  that  led  him  into  the  spe- 
cial business  career  in  which  he  is  so  prominent.  When  capitalists 
began  to  utilize  the  water-power  of  the  Merrimac  at  Lawrence^ 
Massachusetts,  Mr.  Bodwell  was  employed  to  haul  granite  blocks 
from  Pelham,  New  Hampshire,  for  the  construction  of  a  dam.  In 
this  capacity  he  became  familiar  with  the  art  of  quarrying  and 
working  granite.  His  long-cherished  ambition  to  work  in  a  wider 
and  more  lucrative  field  than  a  circumscribed  country  farm  im- 
pelled him  to  concentrate  all  his  energies  in  the  direction  of  the 
granite  industry.  From  this  beginning  he  has  been  remarkably 
successful,  rising  from  the  position  of  humble  employee,  with  goad- 
stick  and  oxen,  to  the  head  of  the  granite  business  in  the  United 

The  State  of  Maine  is  rich  in  granite  for  architectural  and  other 
uses.  The  headlands  and  islands  of  Penobscot  Bay  had  been  the 
home  of  the  sea-fowl,  undisturbed  by  the  quarryman's  hammer^ 
and  worthless  as  property,  until  the  quick  perception  of  Mr.  Bod- 
well, coupled  with  his  practical  knowledge  and  vigorous,  enterpris- 
^i^g»  aggressive  business  qualities,  showed  that  they  could  be 
transformed  into  quarries  more  valuable  than  gold  mines.  In  1852 
Mr.  Bodwell,  in  company  with  Hon.  Moses  Webster,  began  to  work 
the  quarries  on  Fox  Island.  Since  then,  under  the  inspiration  of 
Mr.  Bodwell  and  others  endowed  with  his  spirit  and  characteris- 
tics, these  granite  beds  have  been  converted  into  scenes  of  busy 
industry,  and  made  to  yield  material  for  the  building  of  many 
magnificent  national,  state,  civic  and  private  edifices.  Mr.  Bodwell 
began  operations  here  with  one  yoke  of  oxen,  which  he  drove  him- 


self  and  shod  with  his  own  hands.  From  this  beginning  an  asso- 
ciation of  capitalists  organized  under  the  name  of  the  Bodwell 
Granite  Company  and  elected  the  enterprising  pioneer  to  its  presi- 
dency ;  this  position  he  still  fills ;  under  his  management  it  has 
attained  the  stature  of  the  leading  granite  company  in  the  country. 

Granite  of  lighter  color  and  more  delicate  texture  than  that  on 
the  sea-coast  is  found  in  great  abundance  at  Hallowell,  on  the 
Kennebec  River,  about  forty  miles  inland.  This  is  the  most  de- 
sirable kind  for  monumental  and  artistic  purposes.  These  quarries 
had  been  abandoned  for  many  years ;  Mr.  Bodwell  foresaw  a  pop- 
ular demand  for  so  handsome  and  valuable  a  quality  of  granite, 
and  in  1866  removed  with  his  family  to  Hallowell,  where  in  1870 
was  organized  the  now  famous  Hallowell  Granite  Company,  of 
which  he  was  then  chosen,  and  still  remains,  president.  The 
beautiful  products  of  this  association  have  been  sent  into  nearly 
every  State  in  the  Union ;  its  colossal  statuary,  like  **  Faith  *^  at 
Plymouth,  Massachusetts,  and  the  War  Monument  on  Boston  Com- 
mon, rivalling  white  marble  in  its  beauty,  are  to  be  found  in  all 
the  great  cities  of  the  land,  from  Portland  to  New  Orleans.  The 
Sphinx  in  Mt.  Auburn,  the  piece  of  sculpture  which  so  arrests  the 
attention  of  every  visitor  to  that  magnificent  city  of  the  dead,  was 
carved  from  this  quarry,  as  also  some  of  the  grandest  edifices  in 
the  United  States,  like  the  Capitol  at  Albany.      , 

Mr.  Bodwell  still  retains  his  early  love  for  agricultural  pursuits. 
He  owns  and  cultivates  with  success  a  large  farm  in  Hallowell. 
His  accurate  judgment  of  the  different  kinds  of  live-stock,  neces- 
sary to  meet  the  demands  of  the  country,  led  him  to  import  a  herd 
of  thorough-bred  Hereford  cattle  in  1879.  This  was  a  bold 
venture  from  which  he  did  not  expect  financial  success,  but  so 
favorable  was  the  result  that  he  has  now  become  one  of  the  largest 
importers  of  special  blooded  stocks  in  the  country. 

In  public  political  life  Mr.  Bodwell  has  filled  with  ability  various 
positions  of  trust  and  hftnor.  He  has  twice  represented  his  fellow-  v 
citizens  in  the  Maine  Legislature ;  two  terms  he  served  as  Mayor  ^ 
of  Hallowell ;  was  delegate-at-large  to  the  Chicago  Convention  in 
1880,  which  nominated  General  Garfield.  Friends  have  often 
pressed  him  in  vain  to  accept  nominations  for  higher  offices ;  but 
he  was  induced  to  listen  to  the  almost  irresistible  demand  of  the 


Republican  party  of  his  adopted  State,  and  accept  the  nomination 
for  Governor,  last  June,  and  was  elected  in  course  by  a  handsome 

Mr.  Bodwell  is  pre-eminently  a  business  man.  He  possesses 
remarkable  ability  to  project  and  execute  large  enterprises,  which 
have  uniformly  been  successful.  Versatile  and  apparently  equally 
efficient  in  diversified  business  departments,  he  is  president  of  the 
Bodwell  Water  Power  Company  at  Oldtown,  Maine,  a  corporation 
which  holds  the  largest  water-power  in  New  England.  He  carries 
on  lumbering  operations  on  the  head-waters  of  the  Kennebec 
river,  and  is  a  stock-holder  and  promoter  in  several  railroad 

Mr.  Bodwell,  in  his  various  enterprises,  is  a  great  employer  of 
labor  of  all  degrees  of  skill,  from  the  simple  drills-man  to  the 
artistic  sculptor;  from  the  woodsman,  river-driver,  millman  and 
farm-hand,  to  the  artist  and  designer  of  grand  edifices  and  monu- 
ments ;  his  various  quarries  are  literally  hives  of  industry.  By  his 
considerate  treatment  of  his  employees  he  holds  in  full  measure 
their  respect  and  esteem.  No  strike  or  lock-out  ever  occurred 
about  his  works.  Having  honorably  risen,  as  if  by  gravitation, 
from  the  humble  workingman  to  a  lofty  position  in  the  business 
and  financial  world,  his  sympathies  are  too  broad  for  injustice  to 
exist  which  he  can  prevent.  Mr.  Bodwell's  generous  nature  makes 
him  strongly  and  practically  philanthropic,  without  ostentation  or 
desire  for  notoriety.  Broad-brained  and  large-hearted,  with  the 
memory  of  his  own  early  struggles  fresh  in  his  mind,  he  is  quick 
to  sympathize  with  those  who  are  manfully  wrestling  with  adverse 
circumstances.  Many  promising  young  men,  assisted  by  his 
patronage,  have  entered  upon  business  careers,  whose  usefulness 
and  success  are  in  some  measure  modelled  after  those  of  his  own. 
A  lover  of  knowledge,  and  a  generous  friend  of  education,  his  con- 
tributions to  literary  institutions  have  been  liberal.  He  will  be 
admiringly  and  lovingly  remembered  when  the  splendid  granite 
structures  he  has  helped  to  build  shall  have  become  old  and 
picturesque  ruins. 

No  act  ever  stained  his  business  or  personal  honor  and  integrity ; 
he  has  always  worn  the  "  white  rose  of  a  blameless  life."  His  re- 
ligious views  have  for  their  central  thought  the  divine  love  and 


care  for  the  whole  human  race.  His  special  affiliation  is  with  the 
Universalist  denomination.  His  domestic  life  is  one  of  sweetness 
and  joy.  The  strong  and  rugged  side  of  his  nature  which  the 
world  sees,  has  love  and  gentleness  for  its  obverse  in  the  family 
circle.  He  married  in  1848,  Eunice  daughter  of  Josiah  Fox;  she 
died  in  1857,  leaving  one  daughter,  Persis  M.,  who  is  now  the 
widow  of  the  late  J.  M.  Paine  of  Hallowell.  In  1859  he  married 
Hannah  C,  sister  of  his  former  wife.  Their  only  son,  Joseph  F., 
is  a  promising  young  man,  now  engaged  in  securing  an  education. 
Born  not  to  the  purple,  but  to  the  simple  inheritance  of  the 
average  country  boy,— obscurity,  poverty,  labor, — but  with  the 
manly  brain  and  fibre  that  come  from  the  rich,  vigorous  blood  of 
puritan  ancestry,  disciplined  to  self-reliance  in  the  stern  school  of 
practical  life  amid  the  peerless  institutions  and  moral  atmosphere 
of  New  England,  Mr.  BodwelFs  magnificent  career  is  a  happy 
illustration  of  the  grand  flowering  of  New  England  civilization  into 
men,  strong  and  symmetrical,  the  honor  of  their  generation  and 
their  country.  To  the  youth  of  to-day  his  life  is  an  example  and 
an  inspiration ;  the  heritage  that  was  his  is  theirs ;  his  attainments 
and  eminence  are  their  possibilities. 






"  Is  he  mad,  or  a  demon?  " 

**  Both,  I  should  imagine,"  was  my  unhesitating  answer. 

We  were  standing  —  my  friend  Jules  Picot,  who  put  the  query, 
and  myself — in  the  doorway  of  a  cabaret  not  far  from  the  fountain 
of  Trevi,  in  one  of  the  environs  of  Rome,  regarding  with  amaze- 
ment a  singular  display  by  the  greatest  violinist  of  the  day,  Nicolo 
Cesi.  He  was  playing,  inside  the  wine  shop,  to  a  group  of  persons 
in  an  humble  sphere  of  life.  My  friend  Picot  and  I  had  shortly 
before  left  the  Colonna  Palazzo  where  Cesi  was  engaged  by  its 
wealthy  owner,  at  what  might  be  considered  fabulous  remunera- 
tion, to  render  only  two  airs  during  the  evening,  and  where  he  had 
evinced  one  of  his  capricious  humors, —  no  extraordinary  thing 
with  him  of  late.  On  our  way  homeward,  in  which  we  took  a  cir- 
cuit of  a  portion  of  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  as  the  night  was  very 
fine,  and  attracted  by  the  music,  we  discovered  the  man  in  this 
obscure  wine  shop,  surrounded  by  a  number  of  delighted  —  nay, 
enraptured  —  country  people ;  Cesi  obviously  on  the  best  of  terms 
with  his  auditory,  as  were  they  with  him. 

It  had  long  been  my  ambition  to  become  a  pupil  of  the  great 
master ;  but  rumor  had  credited  him  with  a  temper  as  vile  as  his 
genius  was  eminent ;  and  it  was  accordingly  a  pleasant  surprise  to 
me  to  find  the  man  so  thoroughly  good  humored  with  his  peasant 

My  friend  and  I  entered  the  shop,  and  after  having  paid  for  our 
wine  we  joined  the  crowd,  to  listen.  Cesi's  quick  eye  perceived  us 
the  moment  we  appeared,  and  he  at  once  became  sullen ;  t^^'ice  he 
raised  his  violin  to  the  position  for  playing,  but  each  time  quickly 
lowered  it.  He  was  however  persuaded  by  his  listeners  to  resume 
his  performance.  He  then  commenced  to  play  a  Romance  of  his 
own,  to  which  we  all  listened  so  intently  that  each  one  felt  his  very 
breathing  to  be  almost  an  intrusion.  The  master  could  never  have 
played  as  he  did  on  this  occasion ;  for  in  that  humble  wine  shop, 


surrounded  as  he  was  by  the  tanned  faces  of  the  peasants,  he  eli- 
cited from  his  violin  such  melodious  sounds  as  would  not  have 
been  produced  by  him  from  that  instrument  in  the  concert  rooms 
of  any  European  city.  The  piece  he  essayed  was  the  saddest  and 
sweetest  of  melodies ;  each  note  went  straight  to  the  heart ;  and 
tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  impressionable  Italians,  many  of  them 
bearded,  stalwart  men. 

The  scene  in  itself  was  weirdly  striking,  and  was  one  of  those 
seldom  witnessed  by  an  Englishman.  Under  the  swinging  oil 
lamps  Cesi's  wild  black  eyes  had  all  the  unhappy  restlessness  of 
insanity,  and  his  face  grew  white  with  the  intensity  of  his  passions. 
One  could  see  by  the  expression  of  his  countenance  that  each  note 
came  direct,  as  it  were,  from  his  very  soul,  and  caused  him  agony ; 
while  his  long  nervous  fingers  seemed  to  caress  the  strings,  so 
gently  and  dextrously  was  each  movement  performed. 

It  was  some  seconds  after  the  musician  had  finished  ere  we 
realized  the  fact,  and  even  then  the  delicious  sounds  we  had  been 
enjoying  with  such  rapt  attention  seemed  to  float  around  and 
above.  Then  the  moment's  silent  pause  was  succeeded  by  a  burst 
of  wild  cheering. 

Cesi  then  threw  back  his  disordered  hair  from  his  heated  brow, 
and  nodded  to  my  friend  and  me,  who  were  standing  slightly  out- 
side the  group,  the  while  waving  his  hand  and  smiling  all  around ; 
but  no  one  present  could  induce  him  to  play  again,  and  laughing 
gayly  he  left  the  house,  followed  by  almost  all  the  crowd ;  but  so 
entranced  had  I  become  that  it  was  only  after  I  had  proceeded 
some  distance,  that  I  missed  my  friend  Picot  from  my  side.  Cesi 
went  along,  talking  in  a  jocular  strain  with  several  of  his  humble 
admirers  who  kept  well  around  him ;  and  just  as  we  all  reached 
Mount  Esquilinus,  he  wished  us  "  Buona  notte, "  and  swiftly  dis- 
appeared in  the  direction  of  the  Baths  of  Trajan  and  Titus. 

I  found  myself  alongside  a  comely  peasant,  one  Carlo  Vatti, 
whom  I  knew  as  selling  fruit  at  the  Fountain  of  Trevi.  The  man, 
recognizing  me,  removed  his  hat,  saying,  as  he  fanned  his  heated 
brow  before  replacing  it,  "Ah,  Signore,  Cesi  has  led  us  a  dance 
after  him,  but  genius  deserves  to  be  honored  everywhere. " 

I  looked  at  the  speaker  in  surprise,  and  then  I  realized  where  I 
was  —  in  Rome. 


Glad  of  the  man's  company,  I  took  my  way  back  to  the  interior 
of  the  city  with  Vatti,  it  being  now  past  midnight,  and  my  destina- 
tion being  close  to  the  Porta  del  Popolo.  Our  conversation  natur- 
ally dealt  wholly  with  Cesi,  and  Vatti  related  to  me  many  of  his 
curious  characteristics ; — how  he  played  nearly  every  night  at  that 
same  wine  shop,  and  how  he  always  bade  the  company  good  night 
at  the  Esquiline  Hill.  My  companion  also  dilated  on  Cesi's 
munificent  generosity,  and  his  charity  to  the  poor  in  the  cold 
winter  season.  "Ah,  Cesi  is  great,  Signore,  yet  he  is  mad.  I  re- 
member him  some  years  back,  before  he  was  so  well  known ;  he 
had  then  a  very  beautiful  girl  pupil  with  whom  it  is  said  he  fell  in 
love ;  they  were  married,  and  he  used  to  leave  Italy ;  however,  he 
returned  from  foreign  countries  one  night,  and  we  never  heard 
more  of  the  lady ;  people  say  she  died  in  one  of  the  great  cities, 
and  Cesi  never  permits  any  allusion  to  her.  I  call  to  mind  so  often 
seeing  them  together  of  an  evening  in  the  Borghese  Garden,  and 
all  Rome  speculated  on  the  probability  of  a  marriage  before  many 
months  would  pass,  between  the  maestro  and  his  fair  pupil.  He 
was  at  that  time  quite  sociable  and  genial,  playing  then  for  the 
nobles  as  graciously  as  he  does  now  for  the  populace ;  but  since 
his  wife's  death,  Signor  Cesi  has  never  been  the  same, —  and  they 
say  she  would  have  been  great  too ;  for  she  was  young  then, 
barely  sixteen,  and  played  almost  as  well  as  Cesi  himself  did ;  and 
Cielo!  how  handsome  she  was,  tall  and  graceful,  with  hair  like  the 
sunlight,  and  such  hazel  eyes.     I  heard,  too,  that  she  was  English." 

At  the  Fountain  of  Trevi  we  parted,  I  pursuing  my  way  towards 
the  Corso,  where  I  found  Jules  Picot  awaiting  my  arrival. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  all  night  about  Cesi,  and  before  morn- 
ing broke  I  decided  that,  come  what  might,  I  should  go  to  him 
that  very  day,  and  ask  him  to  allow  me  to  become  his  pupil. 


Cesi's  villa  was,  as  regards  locality,  situated  most  charmingly 
among  the  ruins  and  the  gigantic  ilex  bowers  on  the  Esquiline 
Hill.  It  was  some  hours  past  noon  by  the  time  I  reached  the 
place.  I  perceived  that  the  gardens  were  quite  neglected.  Every- 
thing around  bore  an  air  of  languid  repose,  but  it  was  the  stillness 
of  solitude.     The  atmosphere  was  laden  with  the  perfume  borne 

on  the  warm  breeze  from  the  adjacent  orange  groves,  and,  although 
there  were  some  evidences  in  the  trailing  vine  of  the  labors  of  the 
husbandman  of  a  bygone  generation,  all  nature  hereabouts  ap- 
peared now  to  be  surrendered  to  a  condition  of  wildness  as  com- 
plete as  if  the  hand  of  a  destroyer  had  been  stayed  midway  in  its 
full  career  upon  a  cliltivated  garden.  A  ruined  trellis  here ;  a  heap 
of  tesselated  liles  there;  in  one  place  the  pedestal  whereon  stood 
once  the  now  broken  piece  of  statuary  lying  beside  it.  half  con- 
cealed by  tangled  grass  and  creeping  shrubs;  broken  fragments  of 
the  ruined  curtilage  walls  spread  about  outside;  — all  bearing 
testimony  to  the  withdrawal  of  the  hand  of  man  from  a  scene  which, 
by  the  expenditure  of  a  little  care  and  the  conservation  of  art, 
might  have  been  rendered  the  fitting  dwelling-place  of  a  Catullus. 

After  having  been  detained  a  !ong  time  waiting,  an  aged  man 
came  out  slowly  across  the  stone  courtyard  in  answer  to  my  sum- 
mons at  the  bell.  He  could  tell  me  nothing  save  that  his  master 
was  then  from  home,  he  having  gone  toward  the  city,  but  that  in 
any  event  Signer  Cesi  never  saw  visitors,  and  it  was  therefore  use- 
less for  me  to  remain.  At  first  I  actually  thought  of  leaving,  but 
after  a  few  moments'  deliberation  I  entered  into  conversation  with 
the  old  servitor  concerning  his  poultry  yard.  He  invited  me  to 
see  the  fowl  while  being  fed,  and,  as  he  scattered  the  grain  about,  I 
learned  from  him  that  Cesi  lived  absolutely  alone,  no  one  ever 
crossing  the  threshold  save  the  musician  himself,  and  my  inform- 
ant, Tito,  who  even  himself  saw  very  little  of  the  maestro. 

"  I  have  simply  to  dress  a  good  dinner,  which  he  eats  towards 
evening,  by  himself,  after  he  has  finished  composing,  and  neither 
before  nor  after  that,  save  to  provide  him  with  an  early  breakfast, 
do  I  see  him.  One  whim  of  his,"  continued  the  old  fellow,  chuck- 
ling, "  is  that  he  must  have  covers  laid  for  two,  and  then  he  locks 
the  door  on  himself,  and,  to  do  him  justice,  he  has  a  rare  good 
appetite.  He  goes  out  after  dinner,  I  believe,  either  to  play  at  the 
palazzi  of  the  nobility  or  to  amuse  himself.  " 

"  But  docs  no  one  at  all  ever  visit  him?  has  he  no  pupils?"  I 
inquired,  "  for  that  is  why  I  am  here.  " 

"  Well,"  responded  the  old  man,  glancing  uneasily  around,  "  un- 
less it  be  the  evil  one  himself — as  I  have  little  doubt  —  not  a 
solitary  individual  sees  him.      Sometimes  I  hear   sounds  in  his 

38  N I  COLO  CESL 

rooms  when  he  is  out.  But  the  holy  saints  preserve  us,"  he  ejacu- 
lated, crossing  himself,  "  all  Rome  says  he  has  bartered  his  soul  as 
Paganini  did,  for  his  violin  playing.  You  do  not  think,  signor,  that 
the  devil  eats  as  we  do  ?  I  often  intended  to  ask  il  Padre  Michele. 
I  dare  say  he  will  be  able  to  tell  me,  for  it  might  be  a  mortal  sin, 
povero  me/  were  I  to  be  cooking  victuals  for  the  past  year  or  more 
fur  his  majesty,"  observed  Tito,  with  a  shudder,  as  he  pointed 
downwards  with  his  forefinger. 

Smiling  at  the  garrulous  old  man's  conceit,  I  indulged  him  in 
his  fancies,  for  it  is  generally  useless  to  try  reason,  or  to  argue 
concerning  the  supernatural  with  an  Italian ;  therefore  I  sat  under 
the  orange  trees  and  said  nothing,  hoping  each  moment  to  see  the 
great  maestro ;  but  Tito,  when  he  had  finished  feeding  his  geese 
and  chickens,  told  me  sturdily  that  I  should  have  to  leave  soon,  as 
it  was  near  dinner  time  and  Signor  Cesi  was  expected,  else  he 
should  lose  his  place,  and  in  fede  mia,  he  added  firmly,  "  that 
would  be  too  much  of  a  sacrifice  for  sake  of  gratifying  a  stranger's 
curiosity.  '* 

I  saw  the  situation  plainly  then,  and  at  last,  aided  by  the  bribe  of 
ten  liras,  a  substantial  douceur  in  the  eyes  of  an  Italian  peasant, 
Tito  consented  to  accompany  me  through  the  edifice.  It  was  in 
alructure  a  gloomy  Italian  villa  half  in  ruins,  abounding  in  frescoes 
Which  Horace  and  Maecenas  may  possibly  have  gazed  on,  although 
the  colors  were  still  almost  fresh.  The  vestibule  was  supported  by 
n\arble  pillars  topped  by  Doric  capitals,  and  on  either  side  were 
t<i  bo  seen  some  specimens  of  fine  sculpture,  including  the  "Or- 
pheus anil  Kurydice"  after  Praxiteles.  Inside  the  abode,  dust  lay 
iipuu  everything  thickly;  the  inlaid  floor  and  the  quaintly  designed 
fiirniture  of  a  dead  age  were  covered  with  it;  whilst  in  two  or 
ihret;  of  the  chambers  were  to  be  seen  several  violins,  and  violins 
only;  ('esi  was  a  collector  evidently.  I  thought,  as  I  regarded 
them.  At  the  furthest  end  of  the  dwelling  I  at  length  came 
u|Min  the  first  signs  of  habitation  :  for.  in  a  long,  lofty  room,  whither 
niv  iMiide  led  me,  in  which  were  choicest  frescoes  and  casts  of 
the  Laocoon  and  Apollo  Belvidere.  I  observed  CesVs  escri/oire,  of  a 
mndern  style  in  ebony  and  gold,  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  the 
lofty  Roman  chamber.  The  escritoire  was  piled  with  manuscript 
parts.     The  atmosphere  around  was  hea\y  with  the  odors  of  the 


flowers  which  the  nobles  of  Rome  so  lavishly  bestowed  on  the 
great  maestro;  some  scattered  around  were  already  dead,  others 
were  nearly  so,  whilst  on  all  the  side  tables  and  chairs,  also  in  a 
large  carved  wardrobe,  a  medley  of  wearing  apparel  of  ail  descrip- 
tions was  distributed. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  the  apartment  a  heavy  velvet  portiere 
depended  over  the  entrance  to  what  appeared  to  be  a  deep  alcove, 
and  deciding  in  my  mind  that  this  was  Cesi'a  sleeping  apartment,  I 
left  Tito's  side,  and  stepping  across  the  room,  lifted  the  curtain, 
being  curious  to  see  the  chamber  in  which  the  great  musician  slept 
and  dreamed.  Just  as  I  raised  it,  however,  and  perceived  that  a 
door  barred  further  progress,  I  heard,  as  I  fancied,  the  faint  sound 
of  footsteps  at  the  other  side  of  the  door. 

Cesi  must  be  there,  I  concluded.  Here  was  my  opportunity. 
Had  old  Tito  spoken  falsely  about  his  being  away?  I  had,  how- 
ever, the  test  ready. 

"  Tito,"  said  I,  "  the  dust  of  these  rooms  is  so  intolerable  that  I 
would  give  a  deal  for  a  drink  of  water.  Will  you  kindly  fetch  me 
one  ?  " 

"  Probably  signor  would  prefer  an  orange." 

"  Certainly,  good  Tito,  you  may  as  well  bring  me  both,"  I  re- 
sponded, as  I  slipped  into  his  hand  a  few  liras,  which  the  old 
servant  clutched  eagerly  as  he  departed. 

"You  will  not  leave  this  apartment  till  I  return,"  stipulated  Tito, 
"  I  shall  be  back  presently." 

Seizing  the  opportunity  afforded  by  the  old  man's  temporary 
absence,  I  tried  the  handle  of  the  door,  but  finding  it  locked,  I 
turned  the  key  which  was  on  the  outside. 

Upon  opening  the  door  I  found  it  led  into  a  room  which  was 
ablaze  with  waxlights,  and  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  apartment 
was  the  most  beautiful  woman  1  had  ever  beheld.  I  was  struck 
dumb  with  wonderment  at  the  scene  around  me.  Not  a  vestige  of 
daylight  was  visible,  and  in  every  available  corner  were  gigantic 
candelabras  holding  lights.  Behind  the  lady  was  a  writing  table, 
similar  to  the  ebony  one  in  the  outer  room,  and  on  it  rested  a 
lamp  having  a  pale  pink  globe  that  threw  a  subdued  light  over 
surrounding  objects.  I  thought  at  first  that  I  might  be  dreaming, 
and  said  under  my  breath,  "  Thb  comes  of  drinking  wine  at  break- 


fast  and  then  sitting  in  the  sun ;  "  but  I  felt  my  waking  senses 
could  not  deceive  me  to  such  an  extent,  and  that  the  scene  before 
me  was  too  palpable  to  sight  to  be  anything  but  real.  The  girl, 
for  in  years  she  was  scarcely  more,  stood  watching  me  with  dilated 
eyes,  she  then  raised  one  hand  to  her  brow,  her  lips  parted,  but 
her  utterance  entirely  failed  her  for  the  moment.  I  approached 
her  deferentially,  and  uttered  in  somewhat  imperfect  Italian  an 
apology  to  "  La  signorina  '*  (as  I  concluded  her  to  be)  for  my 
intrusion,  when  she  burst  into  tears,  and  addressing  me  in  a  toneoi 
great  agitation  but  of  exquisite  sweetness,  exclaimed,  "  Do  you 
not  know  me  ?     I  am  Cesi's  wife ;  you,  Signore,  must  save  me  ! " 

I  stood  as  if  transfixed,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment,  and  I 
returned  sympathetically, — 

**Tell  me  everything,  Signora;  for  at  present  I  know  nothing^ 
save  what  rumor  states — all  the  world  believe  you  dead." 

**Dead!*'  she  ejaculated  in  surprise.  *'No,  I  came  here  with 
Cesi,  and  have  been  detained  here  by  stratagem.  It  seems  for 
years — ages.  Oh !  for  the  blessed  sunshine."  She  rushed  past 
me  to  the  outer  room,  and  approaching  the  window  placed  her 
hands  before  her  eyes  to  exclude  the  glare  for  the  moment,  and 
kneeling  down  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  hysterical  weeping.  **  Oh, 
light !  light !  "  she  cried,  so  frantically  that  I  thought  she,  too, 
must  be  demented,  like  Cesi.  When,  however,  she  turned  her 
face  to  me  I  knew,  from  the  intelligent  expression  of  her  beautiful, 
but  sad  eyes,  that  she  was  as  sane  as  any  one. 

**  Am  I  not  right,  Signore;  this  is  the  Poet's  Hill?  and  I  have 
been  living  here  so  long,"  she  obser\'ed.  She  then  stood  quietly 
for  a  few  seconds,  looking  out  over  the  city,  evidently  lost  in 
thought ;  until,  straining  my  ears  and  hearing  the  sound  in  the  stone 
vestibule  below  of  old  Tito  returning  from  the  garden,  limping 
along  with  oranges,  I  touched  her  arm. 

**  Signora,  why  not  leave  now?     Not  an  instant  is  to  be  lost." 

I  had  scarcely  spoken  when  we  saw  Cesi  coming  through  the 
gardens  toward  the  house.  His  wife  drew  far  back,  and  wringing 
her  hands  exclaimed  rapidly,  *'  Sono  pcrduto!  He  will  kill  you  if 
he  finds  you  here.  Hide  somewhere,  quick — quick  !  and  turn  the 
key  on  me ;  Cesi  forgot  to  take  the  key  when  he  locked  the  door ; 
but,  Signore,  stay  near,  say  you  unll  save  me !  " 

Assured  her  that  I  would,  and  hurrying  her  across  the  room  to 
the  inner  chamber,  locked  her  in.  Cesi  was  by  this  time  iti  the 
stone  courtyard  outside,  and  I  looked  around  for  some  safe  retreat ; 
there  was  none  but  the  large  wardrobe,  and  slipping  behind  a  long 
cloak,  from  which,  favored  by  the  darkness  of  the  place  where  I 
was  crouched,  I  could  see  everything  that  transpired  in  the  room. 
I  held  my  breath  to  listen.  It  seemed  an  age  till  the  musician 
entered,  closely  followed  by  Tito,  bearing  a  large  tray  covered 
with  dining  requisites.  Cesi  looked  in  at  the  door  without  uttering 
a  word,  and  then  went  across  the  apartment  to  his  wife's  room,  and 
throwing  aside  the  portiere,  he  entered.  I  just  caught  one  glimpse 
of  the  interior,  and  of  Signora  Cesi's  ghastly  face  as  she  bent  over 
her  writing,  then  the  door  was  closed  on  them  and  locked  on  the 
inside.  For  a  long  while  I  could  hear  their  voices,  and  Cesi  in 
about  half-an-hour  came  out  of  the  room,  this  time  carrying 
several  large  sheets  of  manuscript  music  and  bringingthe  key  also. 

For  at  least  two  hours  the  maestro  played  divinely,  and  once  or 
twice  I  nearly  forgot  where  I  was  and  was  about  to  applaud.  Day- 
light began  to  fade  and  still  he  played  on  ;  then,  with  an  impatient 
exclamation,  he  laid  down  the  violin,  and,  after  marking  something 
on  the  manuscript,  he  merely  handed  it  back  to  his  wife,  who,  on 
being  called,  had  come  to  the  door  of  the  apartment  for  the  pur- 
pose; and  then,  locking  her  in,  he  put  on  his  hat.  took  the  violin 
case  in  his  hand  and  went  out. 

I  at  once  came  from  my  hiding  place,  and  watched  him  in  the 
purple  twilight,  going  through  the  ilex  grove,  then  I  went  and 
lifted  the  curtain  to  release  the  woman,  but  the  key  was  gone,  I 
tapped  at  the  door,  and  assured  her,  as  best  I  was  able,  that  I  would 
be  there  in  the  morning.  She  answered  me  hopefully  from  within, 
and  then,  after  losing  my  way  several  times  among  the  strange 
corridors  of  the  building.  I  at  length  stood  in  the  courtyard,  and. 
hastily  glancing  around,  hurried  back  to  the  Corso. 

I  was  due  that  night  at  the  salon  of  the  Marchese  Ruspoli ; 
therefore,  after  changing  my  attire,  I  went  early,  especially  as  Cesi 
was  to  be  there.  The  Marchese's  salon  was  the  gayest,  yet  the 
most  exclusive  in  the  city,  and,  in  faultless  evening  dress,  Cesi  stood 
at  the  end  furthest  from  the  door,  evidently  in  one  of  his  best 
moods,     La  Signorina  Lucia,  the  charming  daughter  of  my  hostess. 


motioned  to  me  as  I  entered,  and  after  a  few  hurried  sentences  to 
her  mother,  I  passed  over  to  the  young  lady.  Cesi  was  standing 
not  far  from  us,  and  la  signorina  confided  to  me  that  the  musician 
was,  as  a  great  fayor,  to  play  one  of  his  new  rhapsodies  for  the 

The  whole  attention  of  the  company  seemed  to  be  centred  on 
Cesi,  and  I  perceived  that  he  bore  the  homage  rendered  him  with 
the  most  perfect  insouciance,  I  had  now  the  great  satisfaction  of 
hearing  the  rhapsody  a  second  time  that  day ;  for  it  was  what  I 
had  heard  him  play,  or,  it  might  be,  rehearse,  while  I  stood  se- 
creted in  his  wardrobe.  After  Cesi,  having  received  all  kinds  of 
compliments,  sat  down,  I  approached  him,  and  made  some  obser- 
vation upon  the  transcenednt  merit  of  the  production. 

*'  It  is  my  best  yet,  I  feel  sure,"  he  said,  as  I  fancied,  with  a 
tinge  of  pride,  if  not  actual  vanity,  in  his  tone,  **  my  best,  though 
it  had  no  existence  till  this  morning.  I  had  it  barely  finished 
when  I  left  the  house." 

I  laughed  within  myself  at  his  little  fib :  for  I  had  heard  him 
practising  the  piece  for  two  good  hours.  And  then  it  was  not 
new,  either,  inasmuch  as  he  had  been  out  till  midday;  but,  of 
course,  I  made  no  observation  on  this,  and  he  continued,  medita- 
tively :  '*  Yes ;   it  will  be  much  better ;   much  better." 

**And  is  it  possible,"  I  queried,  as  if  amazed,  "that  you  only 
finished  it  before  you  left  home  ?  '* 

**  Not  only  possible,  but  it  is  true.  One  half  of  it  is  only  just 
written ;  the  other  half  is  still  to  be  composed,"  was  the  answer, 
given  with  a  look  in  which  it  was  hard  to  know  whether  pride  or 
affected  humility  had  the  greater  mastery  over  the  speaker,  as  he 
stared  steadily  at  me,  with  an  assumption  of  coolness  that  almost 
nonplussed  me,  knowing  as  much  as  I  did  of  the  whole  affair. 

"Then  it  is  what  you  call  an  improvisation?"  I  ventured  to 

The  idea  seemed  to  cause  him  pique ;  for  he  moved  away  as  he 
replied,  frigidly :  "  An  improvisation  !  Nay,  what  folly  !  It  cost 
me  many  days  of  incessant  thought  and  application ;  but  until  this 
evening  it  was  not  given  to  the  world." 

That  night  all  my  enthusiasm  for  Cesi  died ;  and  instead  of 
following  him  to  the  wine  shop,  as  otherwise  I  assuredly  would 

have  done,  I  went  home  to  think  of  nothing  but  his  unhappily 

placed  wife,  and  of  her  voice,  which  possessed  a  sweetness  of 
melody  that  made  one  think  of  the  cherubim. 


After  hours  spent  in  hunting  through  several  shops  in  the 
Quarter  Vespasiani  for  oM  keys,  I  went  on  tlie  following  evening 
to  the  villa  on  the  Esquiline  Hill;  and  after  having  successfully 
evaded  Ccsi,  who  passed  me  near  the  Baths  of  Trajan,  and  eluded 
the  vigilance  of  old  Tito,  I  got  safely  inside.  Luckily,  one  key, 
almost  skeleton  in  pattern,  opened  the  door  of  the  inner  room. 

Cesi's  wife  received  me,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  of  re- 
lief and  of  gratitude  that  came  over  her  face,  as  she  expressed  her 
thanks,  "  Signore,  Quanta  le  sono  mai  obbUgato."  I  had,  however, 
expected  upon  meeting  her  to  find  that  she  had  made  some  prepar- 
ations for  a  hurried  departure,  but  instead,  she  seemed  to  have  done 
nothing  whatever  in  that  respect ;  and  her  nigligi  robe  of  pale  satin 
had  nothing  about  it  that  would  suggest  tlie  idea  of  an  intention 
to  leave. 

I  said  as  much  to  her,  as  I  considered  I  had  incurred  a  great 
personal  risk,  and  my  conduct  might  be  deemed  open  to  censure, 
in  penetrating  the  privacy  of  any  man's  dwelling  in  this  way.  even 
though  the  mission  I  was  on  was  dictated  by  disinterested  motives, 
by  humanity  even. 

"  Everything  but  that,  used  as  a  wrap,"  said  she,  pointing  to  a 
long-hooded  cloak,  '"has  been  taken  from  me;  so  I  must  only 
fasten  the  hood  over  my  head.  But,  Signore,  I  am  not  quite 
ready  yet.     I  have  some  work  to  do,  and  it  is  not  near  dusk." 

I  followed  her  to  the  writing  table,  and  there  lay  Cesi's  rhap- 
sody of  the  night  previous,  with  some  additions  and  variations, 
apparently  fresh-added,  the  ink  being  still  wet. 

I  started  and  inquired,  "Has  he  only  now  gone  out?"  Then 
recollecting  that  I  had  seen  him  near  the  Baths,  I  was  about  to  in- 
quire why  the  ink  was  so  fresh.  She  had,  however,  seated  herself, 
and  seemingly  paid  no  heed  to  my  presence,  for  she  was  com- 
pletely engrossed  with  her  work — feverishly  absorbed,  but  I  could 
not  avoid  trying  to  solve  the  difficulty,  and  I  therefore  ventured  to 
touch  her  lightly  on  the  arm.     She  looked  up  with  a  start,  and 


said  incoherently,  "It  must  be  done.  Yes,  it  must; — and  before 
night,  too.  He  plays  at  the  Vatican ;  his  rival  is  to  be  there — ^Viosti. 
They  should  be  friends — they  must." 

"But  whose  composition  is  it?"  I  inquired  steadily,  looking  into 
her  eyes  as  I  spoke. 

She  flushed  under  my  gaze,  and  answered  confusedly, "  His — of 

"And  what  score  are  you  writing  now?"  I  asked. 

"Will  Signore  forgive  me  for  trying  to  deceive  him?  That  is 
the  explanation  for  my  being  kept  here.  I — I  compose  what  Cesi 

"What!"  I  cried,  "Is  he  so  great  a  charlatan?" 

The  woman  turned  on  me  laughingly,  starting  to  her  feet  and 
throwing  down  her  pen.  "  Silence  !  "  she  exclaimed  imperiously. 
"Say  nothing  against  him.  He  is  the  greatest  violinist  the  world 
has  ever  produced, — save  one,  perhaps,  and  all  should  revere  him 
as  such.  My  poor  compositions  but  please  him  and  afford  him 
more  leisure.  He  honors,  aye,  honors  them  by  using  them ;  and 
although,  Signore,"  she  said  in  a  more  mollified  tone,  "he  has 
kept  me  here  much  against  my  will,  he  will  always  be  Nicole 

I  urged  nothing  in  reply,  as  I  then  discovered  for  the  first 
time  the  reverence  entertained  by  a  pupil  for  a  great  master, 
amounting  in  this  instance  almost  to  love  itself,  had  taken  firm 
possession  of  Giulia  Cesi,  despite  the  man's  selfish  cruelty.  And 
when  I  considered  the  inexplicable  endurance  by  her  of  tyranny 
in  its  worst  manifestations  of  eccentricity  and  avarice,  the  aphor- 
ism of  Montaigne  in  reference  to  the  self-abnegating  devotion  of 
some  women,  at  once  rushed  to  my  mind,  "Hero-worship  is  the 
supplement  of  infatuation.  Where  unbounded  admiration  pre- 
dominates, every  other  sentiment  and  emotion  becomes  gradually 
extinct."  Being  careful,  therefore,  not  to  rudely  disturb  her  pre- 
dilections, nor  to  shatter  the  idol  of  her  choice,  I  remained  silent. 
For  an  hour  or  more  the  woman  worked  steadily,  occasionally  hav- 
ing recourse  to  a  violin  of  most  mellifluous  tone  which  lay  beside 
her,  I  sitting  opposite  her  the  while,  conscious  that  never  had  I 
beheld  so  perfect  a  countenance  and  form,  and  even  though  her 
face  was  pallid,  its  color  seemed  to  be  rather  the  effect  of  inces- 



sant   intellectual   labor   and   want   of  fresh    air.    than 

Finally  she  ceased  writing,  and  looked  at  me  wildly,  her  large 
eyes  becoming  dilated.  "Has  my  deliverance  really  come  at 
last?"  she  half  whispered,  now  recovering  her  feet  with  difficulty. 
"Oh!  my  friend,  how  can  I  ever  thank  you  sufficiently.  It  all 
seems  so  strange  to  leave  here  and  Cesi.  But  I  cannot  die,"  she 
exclaimed  passionately.  "No,  I  am  too  young  for  that;  it  is  too 
early  for  life's  volume  to  be  closed  on  me  in  this  prison-house." 

Tears  came  to  her  relief.  She  then  said,  as  if  surmising  that  I 
was  about  to  utter  some  disparagement  of  her  hero,  "Let  us  say 
nothing  of  my  Cesi.  If  I  have  been  of  the  slightest  use  to  him,  I 
am  amply  rewarded." 

Upon  my  making  an  impatient  gesture,  for  I  felt  that  she  was 
consuming  valuable  time,  and  began  in  consequence  almost  to 
regret  the  dangerous  enterprise  I  was  engaged  in,  the  lady  folded 
the  long  cloak  around  her  form  and  pulled  the  hood  well  down 
over  the  sunny  curls,  which  the  fruit-seller  had  likened  to  sun- 
light; then,  taking  my  arm,  she  was  hurried  by  me  tlirough  the 
various  corridors  of  the  villa,  out  into  the  twilight. 

The  signora  stumbled  a  little  at  first,  and  had  to  close  her  eyes, 
but  as  we  went  down  through  the  grove,  the  perfumed  air,  fresh- 
ened as  it  was  by  the  evening  breeze,  seemed  to  revive  her,  and 
to  impart  strength  to  her  tottering  limbs.  In  a  brief  space  of 
time  I  brought  her  to  the  house  of  the  sister  of  one  of  the 
attachis  of  the  British  Legation,  with  whom,  without  disclosing 
secrets,  I  had  previously  made  arrangements  for  the  reception  of 
an  English  lady  in  whom  I  stated  I  took  an  interest;  adding  that, 
as  possibly  her  case  might  become  one  requiring  diplomatic  aid, 
secrecy  at  present  was  all  important 

Upon  reaching  my  home  I  instructed  my  aged  housekeeper, 
Marcella,  whom  1  sent  for  that  purpose,  to  see  after  the  wants  of 
xny  proligi  and  to  remain  with  her  for  a  time. 

Returning  to  my  friend's  house  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour.  I 
found  Cesi's  wife  reclining  on  a  lounge.  When  she  perceived  me 
she  hastily  extended  her  hand,  as  under  a  grateful  impulse. 

"Do  not  say  anything,  Signora,  I  entreat,"  said  I  assuringly, 
"but  take  rest  for  a  day  or  two.  All  arrangements  for  your  safe 
withdrawal  to  England  can  be  made." 

46  N I  COLO  CESL 

"But  my  husband?"  she  Inquired  hurriedly. 

"Oh !  do  not  at  present  concern  yourself  about  him.  I  go  to 
the  Vatican  this  evening  to  hear  him  and  his  rival,  and  I  shall  tell 
you  all/'  I  promised  her. 

Marcella  having  drawn  the  blinds  and  opened  the  windows  for 
her  fair  charge,  I  went  home  to  dress. 

The  Vatican  party  that  evening  was  very  small  and  select. 
Save  for  two  or  three  honored  outsider^,  the  company  numbered 
only  some  of  the  Italian  notables  and  highest  ecclesiastics. 

Viosti  came  punctually  to  time,  but  Cesi  was  so  late  that  all  had 
nearly  given  him  up,  and  were  momentarily  expecting  the  entrance 
of  one  of  the  lay  functionaries  of  the  palace,  with  a  note  of  apol- 
ogy, when  he  himself  at  length  appeared.  I  alone  was  aware  of 
the  cause  of  his  detention. 

His  clothes  were  in  disarray,  and  his  jet  black  hair  was  thrown 
back  roughly  from  his  forehead.  He  looked  around  wildly  in 
quest  of  somebody,  but  the  instant  his  eye  lighted  on  Viosti  he 
stood  at  his  full  height,  then  bowed  with  impressiveness  to  him. 

"These  two  detest  each  other,"  whispered  the  Marquise  di 
Ruspoli  in  my  ear,  "but  you  will  see  that  Cesi  beats  the  Floren- 
tine. We  shall  have  a  treat  this  evening,  for  our  Roman  is  madder 
than  ever." 

Cesi,  in  whose  mind  a  contest  appeared  to  be  raging,  judging 
from  the  variableness  of  his  demeanor,  sullenly  declined  to  lead, 
whereupon  Viosti,  with  charming  humility,  politely  produced  his 
violin.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  the  Florentine's  playing 
was  unexceptional,  and  that,  proficient  as  he  was,  he  excelled  him- 
self on  this  occasion,  his  tone  being  the  sweetest  imaginable. 
Once,  while  he  compassed  some  extremely  difficult  passages  in 
harmonies,  we  were  struck  with  wonder  at  the  accurate  fingering 
which  he  displayed ;  even  Cesi  himself  looked  up  and  smiled,  only, 
however,  on  recollecting  himself,  to  relapse  into  sullen  gloom. 
But,  compared  with  the  captivating  beauty  and  weird  loveliness  of 
Cesi's  style  of  execution,  the  Florentine's  best  effort,  despite  its 
rare  toning  and  exquisite  smoothness,  and  its  delicacy  of  touch, 
was  completely  eclipsed.  The  other  listeners  evidently  thought  so 
too,  for  although  they  applauded  both  musicians  severally,  with 
hearty  vigor  and  enthusiasm,  their  plaudits  were  intended  in  most 

part  for  Cesi.     He  stood   for   a  few  moments  tuning  his   fourth 

string,  then  my  friend  Ruspoli  whispered  to  Viosti,  "This  is  a  new 
work  of  Cesi's,  composed  since  morning,  he  informed  me,  in 
honor  of  the  occasion,  and  the  maestro  has  dedicated  it  to  you. 
Is  it  not  so,  Maestro  ? "  he  inquired  of  Cesi. 

Cesi  looked  at  his  rival  a  moment,  then  his  face  beamed  and  a 
kindly  expression  banished  t!ie  sullenness  from  his  brow. 

"Ves,"  he  replied,  with  unwonted  gentleness  of  accent,  yet  so 
audibly  that  he  was  distinctly  heard  by  all  the  assembly,  "it  is 
dedicated  to  my  good  and  esteemed  friend  Signore  Viosti,  with  my 
sincerest  love  and  profoundest  admiration." 

A  murmur  of  approval  went  around,  and  Viosti,  who,  to  do  him 
justice,  was  a  man  of  naturally  amiable  parts,  almost  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  and  after  the  manner  of  Italians,  publicly  embraced  Cesi, 
his  sometime  rival. 

The  first  few  bars  of  the  rhapsody  elated  us  all.  This  work  of 
"Reconciliation,"  then,  was  what  Giulietta  Cesi  had  actually  been 
engaged  on  while  I  sat  watching  and  waiting  for  her  that  day.  I 
could  not  fail  to  recognize  an  occasional  bar  here  and  there  of  the 
symphony.  Could  Cesi  himself  have  spontaneously  selected  the 
subject?  I  inquired  of  myself.  No,  such  was  most  unlikely.  It 
appeared  to  me  that  his  wife,  before  leaving  finally,  had  suggested 
it,  and  that  the  man  himself  when  he  returned  and  discovered  her 
justifiable  flight  from  slow  murder  and  found  her  composition  on 
the  desk  ready  for  him — the  last  he  knew  she  would  ever  compose 
for  him,  was  so  chastened  by  the  incident  of  her  departure,  and  so 
softened  and  subdued  by  the  joy-inspiring  strain,  that  his  sterner 
nature  had  to  yield,  not  without  reluctance,  to  the  dissolving  influ- 
ence of  the  spell  produced  by  the  work.  Besides,  too,  it  was  her 
last — her  latest  piece,  her  departing  legacy.  Was  there  in  all  this 
(Cesi  must  have  reasoned  within  himself,)  a  presentiment  of  im- 
mediate evil  which  his  superstitious  nature  coerced  him  to  avert 
by  compliance  with  what  now  seemed  to  be  his  wife's  parting 
injunction?  Was  his  better  angel  hovering  around  him,  prompt- 
ing him.  ere  it  was  too  late,  to  bury  all  animosity  toward  his 
fellow-man  ? 

We  listened  to  the  most  wonderful  passages  of  almost  insur- 
mountable difficulties,  certainly  invincible  now  to  all  but  a  Cesi, 


passages  so  exquisitely  harmonious,  that  it  seemed  to  us — so  car- 
ried away  were  we — the  vioHnist  must  for  the  time  being  be 
imbued  with  the  divine  afflatus.  Of  the  work  itself,  each  note 
sounded  as  a  benison  upon  all  around ;  while  the  composition  was 
such  as  would  not  have  been  unworthy  of  a  place  in  the  chorus 
of  the  angelic  throng  in  their  Song  to  the  Shepherds. 

The  great  maestro, — magician  he  deserves  also  to  be  styled, 
having  concluded,  resumed  his  seat.  We  crowded  about  him,  and 
tried  to  find  words  to  express  our  delight.  His  face  had  now  com- 
pletely lost  its  oft  assumed  saturnine  expression,  and  a  smile 
wreathed  his  clear-cut  features,  while  his  wonderful  eyes  seemed  to 
have  within  them  something  not  of  this  earth. 

I  was  no  longer  amazed  at  his  wife's  adoration,  and  with  closed 
eyes  I  listened  to  him  while  he  played  again.  It  was  this  time  a 
simple  melody  he  chose,  so  drearily  sad  and  so  pathetically  ap- 
pealing, that  when  the  musician  had  finished  we  could  only  cluster 
around  him  silently  and  whisper  our  thanks.  He  understood  us, 
and  shaking  Viosti  by  the  hand,  with  a  fervently  uttered  **  Dio  la 
garde''  he  bowed  to  the  assembled  company,  and  went  out  alone. 

Before  departing,  however,  he  said  to  Ruspoli,  with  a  smile,  but 
beyond  Viosti's  hearing, "  I  am  glad  to  have  pleased  you  all.  Glad 
for  Rome's  sake." 

The  marquise  then  caught  both  his  hands  and  said  with  enthu- 
siastic delight,  "  Maestro,  Viosti  is  grand ;  Viosti  is  magnificent ; 
but  he  will  never  attain  to  the  pinnacle  on  which  our  Cesi  stands. 
Vada  con  Dio  I " 

Going  homeward  through  the  quiet  moonlit  streets,  I  speculated 
whether  Cesi  would  go  to  his  old  haunt,  the  wine  shop,  and  play 
for  th^  peasants.  I  sauntered  thither,  as  it  was  yet  early,  but 
found  the  place  deserted,  and  learned  that  the  maestro  had  not 
been  there,  from  which  I  opined  that  Cesi  had  surely  taken  his 
wife's  flight  to  heart. 

As  it  was  not  very  late  by  the  time  I  returned  to  my  friend's 
house,  I  called  on  Cesi's  wife  and  informed  her  of  his  great  triumph 
of  that  night,  and  of  the  reconciliation  between  her  husband  and 
Viosti.  Her  face  flushed  with  joy,  and  she  then  asked  eagerly: 
"  And  my  music.     How  did  they  receive  it?  " 

*'  All  were  unanimous,"  replied  I,  "  that  such  music  had  never 


been  heard  before,  that  it  was  divine,  and  that  the  signer  acquitted 
himself  as  the  greatest  violinist  and  musical  genius  of  his  day." 

She  appeared  highly  gratified,  and  said,  as  she  clasped  her 
hands  contentedly,  "  I  am  glad,  so  very  glad,  that  I  have  been  of 
the  smallest  service  to  him,  and  even  although  my  life  was  almost 
unendurable,  still  it  has  been  all  for  /lim,*' 

I  then  bade  her  good  night  and  went  home,  but  somehow  I  felt 
restless  and  melancholy,  and  sat  smoking  at  my  window  for  hours 
before  retiring. 


About  noon  the  next  day  old  Tito  rushed  to  the  Vatican  with 
the  tidings,  that  upon  going  to  arouse  his  master  he  found  him 
lifeless  on  his  couch.  The  news  spread  with  lightning  speed  to 
every  district  of  the  city,  for  Rome  dearly  loved  her  great  violinist. 
Messengers  from  the  nobility  were  despatched  to  Cesi*s  villa  to  as- 
certain if  the  intelligence  were  really  accurate,  but  they  found  that 
Tito  had  spoken  only  too  truly. 

All  that  day,  citizens  and  peasants  on  foot,  and  nobles  in  carriages, 
went  down  through  the  avenues  to  see  the  illustrious  dead.  I  broke 
the  news  gently  to  Giuletta,  and  after  one  wild  burst  of  bitter 
weeping  she  became  more  composed.  The  same  evening,  along 
with  Marcella,  I  accompanied  her  to  the  Esquiline  Hill  to  view 
what  remained  of  the  maestro.  He  was  lying  in  one  of  the  best 
rooms,  the  catafalque  containing  the  body  being  loaded  with 

Signora  Cesi,  on  entering  the  chamber,  raised  for  a  moment  the 
thick  veil  which  concealed  her  features  and  kissed  him  reverently, 
and  then  laid  a  chaplet  of  white  roses  upon  the  bier.  Amidst  the 
masses  of  gorgeous  and  rare  flowers  Giuletta  Cesi's  simple  offer- 
ing seemed  insignificant,  and  those  around  the  body,  when  she  had 
withdrawn  to  the  garden  to  hide  her  agitation,  tried  to  remove  it, 
but  I  spoke  hastily  and  almost  madly,  "  Let  it  be !  It  is  her 

But  little  knew  they  that  the  unknown  female  who  just  then  had 
placed  there  that  unpretentious  tribute  which  they  almost  spurned, 
had  been  in  a  great  degree  the  means  of  adding  lustre  to  a  name 


which  Time  can  never  dim,  and  whose  brilliancy  shall  shine  through 
future  ages,  wherever  true  musical  talent  is  appreciated. 

I  went  to  where  the  signora  was  seated  outside,  and  so  incon- 
solable was  she,  it  was  only  by  the  aid  of  the  persuasion  of  Mar- 
cella  that,  toward  morning,  I  induced  her  to  return  with  us. 

The  funeral  of  the  maestro,  the  third  day  after  his  death,  passed 
along  the  Corso,  and  whilst  Giuletta  watched  the  crowds  as  they 
thronged  past  the  balcony  where  we  were  standing,  she  muttered 
once,  "  All  Rome  surely  recognizes  his  greatness." 

When  the  cortege  had  disappeared  from  view,  the  signora  re- 
paired to  my  friend's  house,  where  for  days  she  lay  too  ill  to  bear 
removal.  But  one  afternoon,  quite  unexpectedly,  she  came  and 
thanked  me  in  broken  accents. 

I  learned  now  that  more  than  three  years  had  elapsed  since  the 
time  when  Giuletta  Cesi,  then  Juliet  Brandon,  first  became  the 
pupil  of  Nicolo  Cesi.  From  her  infancy  she  had  been  an  ardent 
lover  of  music,  and  at  the  tender  age  of  eleven  she  was  regarded 
as  a  prodigy  in  that  art.  For  four  years  afterwards  she  studied 
with  assiduity  the  difficult  instrument  which  she  had  adopted  under 
t\vo  of  the  best  masters  which  London  could  produce,  for  her 
family  were  wealthy  and  spared  no  expense  on  her  musical  train- 
ing. Soon  after  the  death  of  her  father,  the  girl,  who  was  then 
scarcely  fifteen,  was  accompanied  by  her  mother  to  Italy,  where 
she  placed  herself  under  Cesi's  tuition.  A  finished  musician  him- 
self, he  at  once  recognized  the  marvellous  talent  of  Miss  Brandon, 
and  was  not  slow  to  avail  himself  of  it.  His  forte y  though  he  was 
an  adapt  in  both  departments,  lay  the  more  in  execution,  her's  in 
composition,  though  as  an  executant  it  was  conceded  that  she  was 
almost  as  perfect  as  her  teacher,  and  that  in  course  of  time,  unless 
he  by  constant  application  continued  to  keep  his  position  well  in 
advance  of  her,  the  girl  would  become  fully  his  equal.  Cesi's  age 
was  at  that  time  not  more  than  thirty,  a  period  of  life  when  a 
violinist  who  has  commenced  early  is  generally  at  his  best, — ^when 
his  brain  is  nimble,  and  the  muscles  and  nerves  obey  the  prompt- 
ings of  the  intellect.  Cesi  went  upon  several  professional  tours, 
and  it  was  then  that  his  mind,  which  lived  on  the  incense  of  adula- 
tion, gave  birth  to  the  idea  of  placing  Juliet  Brandon — his  whilom 
compeer — in  the  background,  and  of  rendering  her  subservient  to 


his  ambitious  projects;  he  himself  standing  in  the  forefront  alone, 
with  undivided  empire  ^%  par  excellence"  il  maestro."  His  manip- 
ulation of  the  bow,  exercised  as  it  was  by  him  night  and  day, 
consumed  more  of  his  time  than  allowed  of  his  devoting  uninter- 
mitted  attention  to  composing,  the  dn"^gery  of  which  moreover  he 
felt  interfered  with  his  proficiency  cuo  advancement  as  a  performer. 
Besides  all  this,  he  came  to  consider  that  his  wife — for  he  had  by 
this  time,  notwithstanding  some  objection  on  the  part  of  her 
mother,  married  his  admiring  pupil — was  his  equal  at  the  pen,  and 
that  she  by  this  time  knew,  better  than  any  one  else,  how  to  adapt 
her  style  of  composition  to  his  peculiar  method  of  playing.  Their 
tastes — her  inspiration  in  creating,  his  in  developing — ran  entirely 
in  the  same  groove,  His  rival,  Viosti,  it  is  true,  both  composed 
and  performed,  but  the  number  of  new  pieces  he  was  able  to  pro- 
duce, no  matter  how  hard  he  worked,  could  never,  Cesi  thought, 
amount  to  what  could  be  sent  forth  to  the  world  by  the  joint  ex- 
ertions of  himself  and  his  wife.  Undying  fame  was  to  be  acquired ; 
wealth  was  to  be  realized  rapidly.  In  the  domain  of  violin  music 
there  should  be  but  one  recognized  chief,  before  whom  all  others 
were  to  bow,  and  that  one  should  be — Cesi. 

It  was  under  the  influence  of  this  blending  of  vanity  with  avarice 
that  Cesi  conceived  the  notion,  after  his  last  professional  tour  with 
his  wife,  of  keeping  her  in  close  sequestration.  At  first  it  was  a 
matter  of  choice,  then  she  began  to  rebel ;  but  the  glamour  of  his 
eloquence  of  execution,  his  Timotheus-like  interpreting  into  au- 
dible numbers,  the  mute  symbols  which,  as  a  labor  of  love,  she 
committed  day  by  day  to  paper,  until  it  seemed,  while  he  played 
for  her,  that  an  ecstacy  had  subdued  and  dulled  every  feeling  save 
one  of  rapturous  enjoyment; — all  had  cast  such  a  spell  around 
her,  especially  as  he  kept  on  repeatedly  promising  that  there 
would  be  a  speedy  end  to  her  toil,  that  the  woman's  resistance  was 
enfeebled,  and  she  gradually  yielded  and  became  more  reconciled 
and  inured  to  her  lot,  although  at  times  the  longing  for  liberty 
could  not  be  controlled.  However,  in  all  other  respects  she  was 
well  treated  by  her  husband.  She  wrote,  and  wrote  daily,  and 
every  effort  was  an  indisputable  triumph.  Cesi  drew  the  Kudos  in 
public,  whilst  Giulctta.  immured  in  the  secluded  villa  on  Mons 
Esquilmus,  had,  upon  his  return  each  night,  to  be  content  with 


finding  solace  in   his  narration  of  how  each   work   of  hers  was 


«  «  «  «  « 

The  Secretary  of  the  Legation  at  Rome  was  to  be  despatched 
to  London  by  the  resident  Minister  on  a  diplomatic  journey,  and 
I  seized  the  fortunate  opportunity  thus  presented,  inasmuch  as 
Signora  Cesi  was  then  fit  to  travel,  of  begging  him  to  accompany 
the  lady  to  her  mother,  who  resided  in  Surrey.  Her  mother* 
since  her  return  to  England,  had,  during  her  daughter's  absence, 
contracted  a  second  marriage,  but,  nevertheless,  Juliet  was  received 
and  welcomed  most  cordially.  Cesi  had  died  very  wealthy,  and 
not  long  after  her  departure  from  Italy  Juliet  received  through  the 
Public  Administrator  the  proceeds  of  his  large  personal  estate  in 
money  and  jewels,  besides  the  amount  realized  by  the  sale  of  his 
villa  and  its  valuable  belongings.  She  retained  merely  one  violin 
for  her  own  use,  her  favorite  instrument,  a  genuine  Stradivarius. 

«  «  «  «  « 

It  is  now  better  than  six  short  months  since  I  placed  my  neck 
within  the  matrimonial  noose, — free  and  careless  bachelor  as  I  had 
been ;  but  my  bonds  are  worn  with  the  greatest  equanimity,  for 
never,  to  the  present,  have  I  regretted — nor  do  I  believe  I  ever 
shall  regrcf,  the  hour  when  I  wedded  Giuletta  Cesi. 



In  turning  over  the  pages  of  history  and  biography  the  curious 
reader  is  often  struck  by  a  singular  fact,  and  one  for  which  he  is 
puzzled  to  account, — that  intellectual  ability  runs  in  certain  families, 
and  that  peculiar  qualities  of  mind  and  character  are  sometimes 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  so  that  the  character- 
istics of  an  ancestor  of  a  hundred  years  ago  may  be  exactly  repro- 
duced in  the  lineal  descendant  of  to-day.  The  laws  of  heredity  are 
as  yet  imperfectly  understood,  but  the  fact  seems  to  prove  one 
thing, — that  the  vital,  spiritual,  or  mental  element  or  force,  which- 
ever and  whatever  it  may  be.  is  of  a  purer  and  stronger  quality  in 
some  families  than  that  which  exists  in  certain  other  families. 
There  are  names  which  were  famous  in  Europe  centuries  ago,  borne 
by  men  in  America  to-day,  whose  strong  traits  of  character  still 
keep  them  a  head  and  shoulders  above  their  fellows,  and  make 
them  leaders  among  men.  A  notable  example  of  this  is  the 
family  of  which  we  arc  about  to  speak, — the  P'iowers  of  Kngland 
and  America. 

So  long  ago  as  the  days  of  Queen  Mary,  one  of  the  name,  the 
Rev.  William  Flower,  stood  forth  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  as  the 
champion  of  the  people  for  religious  freedom.  Fox,  in  his  Book 
of  Martyrs,  tells  the  thrilling  story  of  his  persecution  and  martyr- 
dom. Standing  at  the  stake,  and  surrounded  by  the  fagots  ready 
to  be  fired,  he  refused  to  recant,  saying  to  the  priest  who  stood  by 
him,  "  Sir,  I  beseech  you  for  God's  sake  to  be  contented ;  for  what 
I  have  said  I  have  said  ;  and  I  have  been  of  this  faith  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  I  trust  the  living  God  will  give  me  his  holy  spirit  to 
so  continue  unto  the  end." 

This  spirit  of  dauntless  independence  and  of  high  moral  prin- 
ciple, backed  by  untiring  energy  and  keen  intellectual  ability,  has 
always  been  a  characteristic  of  the  family.  It  was  strongly  exem- 
plified in  George  Flower,  a  young  and  wealthy  Englishman,  who 
came  to  this  country  in  1816,  and  made  a  horseback  tour  of 
Pennsylvania,  Ohio,  Kentucky  and  Virginia,  which  was  afterwards 


described  in  a  published  volume.  He  brought  letters  of  introduc- 
tion from  distinguished  persons  abroad,  among  them  one  from 
Lafayette  to  ex-President  Jefferson.  He  was  invited  to  Monticello, 
where  he  spent  several  weeks  on  terms  of  intimate  friendship  with 
the  President,  who,  after  the  close  of  his  public  service  in  1809,  had 
been  living  there  in  retirement. 

In  1 8 1 7  he  was  the  leader  of  a  little  band  of  English  settlers,  all 
of  whom  were  his  personal  friends,  and  one  of  whom,  a  Miss  Eliza 
Julia  Andrews,  he  married.  They  started  west^^ard  without  any 
definite  locality  in  view,  and  halted  at  what  is  now  Edwards  county, 
Illinois,  charmed  by  the  beautiful  and  luxuriant  scenery  and 
fertility  of  the  soil.  Once  settled,  Mr.  Flower  turned  his  attention 
to  improvements  in  .the  old-fashioned,  conventional  methods  of 
farming.  He  imported  stock  and  sheep  of  choice  breeds  from 
England,  the  results  of  which  are  found  to-day,  not  only  in  Illinois 
but  on  countless  farms  of  other  States  of  the  West. 

It  was  hardly  more  than  ^\q.  years  after  the  little  settlement  had 
taken  root  when  the  attempt  was  made  to  carry  slavery  into  Illi- 
nois. The  old  spirit  of  his  martyr-ancestor  at  once  blazed  up,  and 
with  voice  and  vote  he  fought  against  the  machinations  of  the 
slaveholders,  his  fire  and  earnestness  making  hundreds  of  converts, 
and  rendering  invaluable  aid  in  keeping  Illinois  a  free  State.  Mr. 
Flower  originated  the  plan  for  the  colonization  of  free  negroes  in 
Hayti,  which,  owing  to  a  variety  of  causes,  was  only  partially  suc- 
cessful. But  the  attempt  showed  his  living  and  practical  sympathy 
with  the  oppressed  and  unfortunate,  and  stamped  him  as  a  genuine 

Mr.  Flower  was  a  keen  and  incisive  writer  on  subjects  of  public 
polity,  and  numbered  among  his  correspondents  the  famous  William 
Cobbett,  of  England,  Count  Lasteyni,  of  France,  Gen.  Lafayette, 
-^nd  President  Jefferson. 

A  brother,  Edward  Fordham  Flower,  of  Stratford-on-Avon, 
England,  early  became  a  member  of  the  colony,  and  took  active 
part  with  his  brother  in  the  anti-slavery  campaign  in  Southern 
Illinois.  His  fearless  denunciations  of  the  slave  power  made  him 
many  enemies  in  the  opposing  party,  and  his  life  was  frequently 
in  danger.  After  a  five-years'  residence  in  America,  he  returned 
to  England,  and  later  became  Mayor  of  Stratford.     He  made  his 


name  famous  by  his  deeds  of  generosity,  and  the  active  interest 
he  exhibited  in  ameliorating  the  condition  of  the  poor.  During 
his  life  he  retained  his  regard  for  America.  His  doors  were  al- 
ways open  ;  and  Moncure  Conway  once  wrote :  "  More  prominent 
Americans  have  been  entertained  by  Mr.  Flower  than  by  any 
other  person  in  Great  Britain.*'  Shortly  before  his  death,  he  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  erecting  a  theatre  which  should  represent  as 
nearly  as  possible  the  theatre  of  the  days  of  Shakspeare.  This 
plan  was  successfully  carried  out.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that 
he  did  more  to  restore  and  preserve  the  relics  of  the  great  poet 
and  of  his  times  than  all  the  town  officials  who  went  before  or  who 
have  followed  him. 

Besides  the  construction  of  the  theatre,  he  caused  the  rehabili- 
tation of  Shakspeare's  house,  and  established  a  Shakspearian  lib- 
rary and  museum.  His  son,  William  Henry  Flower,  F.  R.  S.,  is 
one  of  the  most  eminent  living  English  surgeons,  and  the  author 
of  several  important  works.  For  twenty-five  years  he  has  held 
the  important  position  of  Conservator  of  the  Museum  of  the  Royal 
College  of  Surgeons,  in  London.  Since  the  death  of  Edward  Ford- 
ham  Flower,  his  son  Charles,  a  gentleman  as  eminent  as  his  father 
for  his  benevolence  and  social  qualities,  has  filled  his  place,  carry- 
ing on  his  projected  plans,  and  keeping  up  the  monuments  estab- 
lished by  his  father.  He  is  a  liberal  entertainer.  General  Grant 
was  his  guest  during  his  visit  to  England  on  his  trip  around  the 
world ;  and  there  are  few  eminent  Americans  who  have  visited 
Stratford  but  have  shared  his  hospitality. 

Another  member  of  ihe  English  Flower  family,  whose  name 
has  become  a  household  word  through  her  exquisite  hymn, 
"Nearer,  my  God  to  thre,"  is  Sarah  Flower  Adams,  the  daughter 
of  Benjamin  FMowcr,  a  prominent  citizen  of  Cambridge,  England, 
and  a  cousin  of  Grorgc  and  luhvard  Flower. 

One  of  the  sons  of  (ii-orge  Mower  was  the  Rev.  Alfred  Flower, 
who  was  for  years  a  ilistin^^uished  preacher  of  the  "  Disciples,"  or 
"Christian  Church,"  in  Illinois.  Like  most  of  the  Western  clergy- 
men in  the  i-aily  days,  his  life  was  one  long  self-sacrifice.  He 
knew  the  value  of  edueation,  and  his  chililren  were  given  every  ad- 
vantage possible,  a  private  teacher  being  engaged  to  live  in  the 
family  and   direct   their  studies.     C)ne  of  these  children  was  the 

now  famous  Dr.  Richard  C.  Flower.  At  that  time  it  was  impos- 
sible to  secure  competent  teachers  irt  the  higher  and  classical 
studies  in  that  part  of  the  country,  and  the  young  lad,  who  thirsted 
for  knowledge  which  could  not  be  obtained  at  home,  was  sent  to 
an  educational  institution  in  Indianapolis.  He  was  then  only  thir- 
teen— a  frail,  delicate  boy — but  he  was  full  of  that  indomitable 
pluck  which  was  characteristic  of  his  ancestors,  and  which  has 
been  the  secret  of  his  success  in  whatever  he  has  undertaken  since. 
He  was  bound  to  succeed,  and  to  succeed  fairly.  His  father  had 
met  with  reverses,  and  from  him  he  could  expect  but  little  help. 
His  money  capital  when  he  reached  Indianapolis  was  but  a  trifle 
over  three  dollars.  What  was  to  be  done  he  knew  and  felt  had  to 
be  done  by  himself.  For  the  next  ten  years  his  path  was  not  an 
easy  one,  but  one  by  one  all  obstacles  were  surmounted.  The  boy 
had  grown  into  the  man ;  a  foundation  for  the  future  had  been 
laid,  and  his  struggle  with  the  world  for  bread  and  for  a  place 

He  had  studied  law,  a  profession  for  which  he  felt  himself  speci- 
ally fitted,  and  in  which  he  would,  doubtless,  have  made  his  mark ; 
but  owing  to  family  influences  and  the  advice  of  friends  he  relin- 
quished his  plans,  and  entered  the  ministry.  In  this  field  he 
achieved  remarkable  success,  preaching  in  Illinois,  Indiana  and 
Kentucky.  His  last  call  was  to  the  city  of  Alliance,  Ohio,  in  De- 
cember, 1875,  His  reputation  had  preceded  him.  and  he  drew 
large  audiences.  But  it  was  soon  seen  that  he  believed  in  progres- 
sive religion,  and  refused  to  be  held  by  the  cast-iron  creed  of  his 
denomination.  He  was  accused  of  heresy,  but  no  trial  was  ever 
held.  He  withdrew,  however,  from  the  Society,  and  the  members 
of  the  congregation  which  followed  him  built  a  magnificent 
church,  on  an  independent  basis,  in  which  the  doctrines  "were  as 
broad  as  the  wants  of  man." 

During  his  whole  life,  Dr.  Flower  had  always  had  a  strong  incli- 
nation to  the  study  of  medicine,  and  he  now  left  the  pulpit  to  turn 
his  attention  in  that  direction.  The  result  showed  the  wisdom  of 
his  determination.  He  went  through  a  long  and  thorough  course 
of  study  with  Dr.  Stone  of  Troy,  N.Y.,  a  noted  physician  of  the 
regular  school,  and  afterwards  graduated  from  the  American 
Health   College,  at  Cincinnati.     In   his  early  practice  his  success 


waH  phenomenal.  He  built  up  an  enormous  practice  in  Philadel- 
phia and  New  York,  having  his  residence  in  the  latter  city.  Four 
years  ago  he  removed  to  Boston,  where  the  same  remarkable  suc- 
cess has  attended  him.  His  reputation  is  by  no  means  colifined 
ti)  the  large  cities  of  the  East.  He  is  known  throughout  the  entire 
country,  and  his  patients  are  numbered  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
ilis  spacious  offices  at  the  corner  of  Washington  street  and 
Chester  Park  are  constantly  crowded  with  those  seeking  his  aid, 
some  of  them  coming  from  long  distances.  He  lives  with  his 
family  on  Commonwealth  avenue,  in  one  of  the  finest  residences 
in  the  city. 



How  like  a  dream  to  Siiunter  through  the  street, 
AValUxl  in  bv  terraces  where  jasmine  vine 
Auvl  cactus  clasp  beak-tlowered  columbine ; 
riie  rich  jxTtume  so  delicately  sweet, 

Setrms  t;>  irake  dreaming  all  the  nK">re  complete. 
Now  iu  sv>me  inai:res<|ue  hall  where  soft  lights 
We  see  a  fair  A!c^*rian  maul  recline 
1'  her  velvet  divan  white  as  sleet. 

l^ut  !"o:re  we  ^>* — the  vivinv;  sun  now  frets 

NV::h  <:o!d  azxl  c:itr:o:T,  wo\en  .:ke  point  Licef 
V'"e  oM  ivoscue's  alabaster  nr::*arets 

That  wudlv  s:and  I  ke  k*r^$  in  rvalms  of  scace.— 
A 1 1  I  •  :?>cr  ea  :r  s  v;  ^:  *  c  k  ly  pa  s$ ;  even  mine  forg 
ThjLC  Uir  tona  priso*x\i  in  i»  rich  c:sgr:tce* 




The  subject  of  Mind  Healing  rises  in  recognized  importance 
with  the  progress  of  human  intelligence.  But  among  some  of 
the  lower  conditions  of  our  race,  "  medicine  men  "  have  a  place  of 
power;  and  it  is  a  striking  verifiable  fact  that  their  methods  are 
largely  mental.  They  operate  on  the  imagination  and  on  the, 
hope  and  fear  of  their  patients.  Their  method  has  generally  been 
curtly  disposed  of  as  an  appeal  to  superstition;  and  so  the  intrin- 
sic mentality  of  the  curative  (and  sometimes  destructive)  action 
has  been  overlooked.  From  the  beginning,  the  curative  action 
has  been  mental,  even  when  men  knew  it  not;  but  a  scientific 
analysis  and  exposition  of  this  was  impossible  before  the  dawn  of 
modern  science  and  of  our  own  day. 

Mind-healing  has  been  an  element  more  or  less  prominent  in 
nearly  all  religions;  and  in  the  noblest  of  them  all  it  is  the  most 
conspicuous,  until  in  Jesus  and  his  most  eminent  apostles  it 
becomes  the  very  atmosphere  on  which  is  borne  their  historic 
name  and  fame ;  and  their  wonders  in  mind-healing  seem  to  be 
the  fragrant  and  incorruptible  spices  in  which  all  their  other 
excellencies  arc  embalmed  and  preserved  to  subsequent  ages. 
The  Christian  Church  Catholic  has  always  claimed  a  special 
endowment  of  mind-healing  virtue  as  her  perpetual  heritage  from 
the  Lord,  though  many  Protestant  divines,  from  sectarian 
impulses,  have  denied  the  claim  to  all  but  the  apostolic  Church  or 
to  the  times  not  much  later. 

In  modern  times,  the  question  has  been  carried  outside  the 
pale  of  the  Church  and  divested  of  its  supernatural  aspect 
Admitting  the  frequent  recurrence  of  certain  wonderful  phe- 
nomena, the  new  question  has  been  raised,  whether  we  cannot 
reduce  them  to  the  operation  of  known  laws  of  mind  or  of  organ- 
ized matter?  We  shall  then  widen,  they  say,  our  knowledge  and 
divest   miracles   of  their   specially  marvellous  element;    and   by 

60  ISMS. 

some  it  was  supposed  that  we  shall  extrude  God,  as  well  as  all 
supernaturalism,  from  the  sphere  of  the  knowable  and  even  of  the 

The  initial  essays  of  what  may  be  called  the  modern  movement 
|were  crude  and  crass.  The  sense  rules  and  makes  experiments 
and  decrees  for  spirit.  At  first  Mr.  Mesmer  thought  the  healing 
agent  was  magnetic ;  and  so  he  used  magnetic  iron  tractors  which 
he  applied  to  persons  and  traced  over  their  bodies.  Seeing  the 
Tyrolese  priest,  Gasner,  achieve  the  same  results  by  manipulation, 
he  conceived  the  cause  to  be  in  his  body,  and  hence  the  supposed 
cause  came  to  be  called  animal  magnetism,  alias  Mesmerism,  alias 
electro-biology  or  vital  electricity.  Finally  our  savants,  like  Car- 
penter and  Braid,  and  a  few  others,  have  found  it  all  out  and 
resolved  it  into  the  effect  of  mental  concentration  and  expectant 
attention,  and  hypnotism.  Well,  this  indicates  mental  progfress. 
The  alleged  cause  and  agent  is  thus  declared  to  be  wholly  mental. 
This  explanation  is  far  the  most  rational  of  all  those  which  exclude 
the  direct  agency  of  God,  though  for  that  reason,  being  wrong, 
they  are  the  most  pernicious.  As  hypnotism,  it  is  a  repression  of 
thought ;  and  as  expectant  attention,  it  is  a  mental  surrender  to 
error  by  surrender  to  the  expected. 

This  conclusion  may  be  reached  by  those  who  hold  to  the  exist- 
ence of  two  substances  which  are  the  opposite  of  each  other  in 
every  quality,  called  matter  and  mind.  The  next  step  is  the  denial 
of  Dualism,  and  the  affirmation  of  intellectual  Monism,  that  there 
is  but  one  kind  of  substance — Mind.  This  may  be  imperfectly 
and  grossly  conceived,  chiefly  in  its  humanistic  and  sense  relations 
and  aspect ;  and  the  action  of  Spirit  may  be  degraded  mainly  to 
material  forms  and  motions  and  effects.  This  seems  to  be  the 
way  of  some  who  claim  theoretically  to  be  spiritual  monists. 
Their  teaching  and  practice  cannot  be  either  elevating  or  healthy. 
The  "mind-cure"  of  such  people  exhibits  but  little  of  mind,  pure 
and  simple.  It  is  but  a  name  falsely  used  to  denote  sensible 
experience,  aims,  and  processes. 

Here  Christian  Science  comes  within  the  view  at  an  immense 
elevation  above  us.  At  least,  so  it  appears  to  all  its  earnest 
adherents.  They  always  speak  to  the  world,  as  from  the  high  van- 
tage ground  of  a  strong  conviction,  that  they  are  in  possession  of 


a  truth  of  peculiar  and  supreme  worth  and  importance,  which 
justly  demands  that  it  be  capitaUzed  and  prefixed  with  the  definite 
article,  as  l/i£  Truili,  the  very  Deity  himself. 

Christian  Science  is  emphatically  monistic,  and  its  monism  is 
purely  and  severely  spiritual.  It  affirms  that  all  is  Mind  :  and  it 
emphasizes  this  to  the  utmost  by  further  affirming  that  there  is 
only  one  Mind.  This,  to  some,  may  wear  the  aspect  of  panthe- 
ism, or,  at  least,  of  panheisenism,  simply  thus  contemplated.  Be 
it  so;  all  must  allow  it  to  be,  notwithstanding,  a  theory  of  the 
loftiest  order.  Its  God  is  absolutely  Infinite.  He  does  not  divide 
his  existence  and  powers  and  honors  with  a  material  universe. 
He  does  not  ask  of  that  universe  the  favor  of  a  shelter  and 
home  and  organ,  as  a  condition  of  his  existence  and  action  and 
comfort.  He  is  God,  and  besides  himself  there  is  naught  else. 
As  Infinite,  he  can  be  subject  to  no  external  conditions.  As  pure 
Spirit,  he  can  have  no  relations  to  space. 

Here  our  old  metaphysicians  attempt  to  describe,  on  the  track 
of  this  doctrine,  Charybdis  and  Scylla  so  close  together  that 
there  can  be  no  sailing  between  them.  If  there  is  no  matter,  then 
the  sensible  universe,  it  is  argued,  must  be  spirit,  or  spirit  is  sen- 
sible and  material;  so  that  God  is  still  identified  with  the  sensible 
universe,  since  he  is  identified  with  all.  and  the  distinction  between 
the  material  and  spiritual  monists  is  destroyed.  It  is  thought  we 
cannot  escape  either  the  identification  of  the  material  universe 
with  God  or  of  God  with  the  material  universe.  But  Christian 
Science  is  not  hence  led  to  reef  a  sail  or  make  a  single  tack,  how- 
ever slight.  Steady  and  firm,  as  if  chained,  she  keeps  her  rudder, 
and  boldly  drives  the  prow  of  her  vessel  right  through  the  dread 
obstruction,  and  proves  that  it  is  nothing  but  illusion,  a  transient 
phenomena!  and  unsubstantial  evolution  or  projection  of  erring 
mortal  mind.  As  a  deception  and  unreality,  it  cannot  be  God; 
and  it  cannot  be  a  constituent  of  the  Infinite  when  it  is  ever  less 
than  the  finite.  Only  the  true  is  the  Real,  and  the  Good  and  the 
Eternal  are  wedded  to  the  true ;  so  that  the  evil  and  evanescent 
thing  called  matter  is  not  a  real  thing  and  substance,  but  only  a 
resemblance,  the  very  essence  of  unreality. 

It  is  from  these  two  contrasted  conceptions  of  matter  and  spirit 
(God),  that  Christian  science  derives  its  peculiar  and  exalted  doc- 

62  ISMS. 

trine  of  Mind-healing.  God,  as  the  Infinite  Good,  comprises  all 
reality,  and,  therefore,  all  evil  is  unreal.  It  is  an  error  to  conceive 
it  otherwise,  and  to  conceive  it  as  a  reality  is  the  only  evil ;  for  it 
can  have  no  power  over  those  to  whom  it  is  as  nothing.  Deny  its 
reality,  affirm  its  nothingness,  realize  this  thoroughly  in  your  whole 
mental  action,  and  its  utter  annihilation  is  for  you  achieved.  The 
True,  the  Real,  the  one  only  Mind  has  attained  in  you  its  due 
conscious  action.  You  are  a  nothing  without  this ;  and  with  it  you 
are  a  divine  Idea,  an  individual  existence  in  the  image  of  God^ 
and  you  show  His  glory,  while  you  also  share  it  in  your  every 
thought  and  action. 

Christian  science   is,  therefore,  eminently  religious,  devout  and 
holy.     It  connects  all  good  with  God ;  and  it  makes  all  real  power 
and  blessing  to  consist  in  the  development  of  the  God-conscious- 
ness, and  in  the  life  which  is  truly  divine  in  its  impulse  and  action 
and  end.     It  is  hence  that  Christian  science  Mind-healing  is  infi- 
nitely and  eternally  effective.     It  is  the  holy  and  divine  agency. 
As  this  is  the  only  good,  and  as,  conversely,  all  other  action,  or 
supposed  action,  is  evil,  it  follows  that  all  apparent  healing  through 
the  action  of  mere  human  thought  is  only  apparent,  and  is  essen- 
tially evil.     To  the  sense  it  may  seem  a  good ;   but  it  is  a  lie,  and 
the   lie  must,  some  where  and  some  time,  be  made  manifest,  that 
it  may  be  destroyed  and  truth  reign  in  its  stead.     Now,  its  falsity 
discerned  is  the  discernment  of  it  as  evil ;   and,  hence,  to  feel  it  as 
disease  and  self-punishment.    Thus,  again,  we  reach  the  logical  con- 
clusion that  the  divine  healing  unfolded  by  Christian  science  is  the 
only  real  healing.     The   method,  therefore,  or  the   doctrine    of 
Christian  science,  is  one  of  vital  importance  to  the  world's  welfare* 
It  justifies  and  enjoins  the  utmost  strenuousness  and  zeal.     It  can- 
not account  the  difference  slight  and  insignificant  between  itself 
and  other  mental  healers.     It  cannot  suffer  itself  to  be  classed  or 
confounded  with  them ;   nor  can  it  extend  to  them  the  hand  of  fel- 
lowship.    With  all  the  fervor  of  an  enlightened  love,  it  must  pro- 
test against  their  errors,  even    at  the  risk   of  being  sometimes 
considered  somewhat  fanatical.    It  is  a  religion  as  well  as  a  science ; 
and,  therefore,  it  should  be  earnest  and  staunch  and  stern.    It  is  a 
science  as  well  as  a  religion,  and,  therefore,  its  religion  is  the  dearer 
and  the  more  important,  as  being  the  better  based  and  the  more 
thoroughly  understood — being  forever  demonstrable. 


All  will  allow  that  perfect,  subjective  harmony  is   necessary  to 

our  perfect  well-being.  It  is  equally  clear  that  so  long  as  our  nature 
is  conceived  and  felt  as  a  duality,  whose  two  parts  are  in  every  in- 
trinsic quality  and  action  opposite  to  each  otiier,  this  perfect,  sub- 
jective harmony  is  impossible.  The  conflict  between  the  parts 
is  necessarily  unceasing  and  perpetual.  "  The  flesh  lusteth  against 
the  spirit,  and  the  spirit  against  the  flesh."  This  harmony  demands 
that  matter  shall  change  its  essential  quality,  and  become  one  with 
spirit,  instead  of  being  its  opposite.  Such  transmutation  would  be 
the  equivalent  of  the  annihilation  of  matter,  so  that  spirit  only  is 
left  as  the  sole  substance  and  agent.  This  brings  us  onto  the 
ground  of  Christian  science. 

But  it  does  not,  necessarily,  give  us  perfect  control  of  the  entire 
territory.  We  may  be,  as  yet,  only  on  the  disputed  border-land, 
where  we  have  to  fight  every  day  for  standing  room.  This  is  the 
present  condition  of  most  Christian  scientists;  and  many  of  its 
professors  are  frequently  carried  captive  over  the  line,  and  know 
it  not,  and  are  unwittingly  serving  the  enemy;  while  others  serve 
him.  too,  consciously  and  freely,  through  earthly  fear  and  favor 
and  selfish  interest. 

Knowledge  is  power.  True  intelligence  is  power;  and,  there- 
fore, the  Infinite  Intelligence  and  I'ower  are  one.  Hence,  we  are 
truly  spiritual  and  genuine  Christian  scientists,  indeed,  only  so  far 
as  what  we  call  our  body  and  matter  are  absolutely  subject  to  the 
control  of  our  confessedly  spiritual  nature,  our  intellect  and  our 
moral  judgment,  and  so  far  as  they  are  unresistingly  submissive  to 
all  the  higher  ends  of  these  higher  powers ;  so  that  these  powers 
speak,  and  it  is  done ;  command,  and  it  stands  fast  This  is  what 
the  true  intelligence,  so  far  as  it  is  developed,  achieves  now  and 
always.  This  is  why  it  is  always  a  healing  agent.  It  destroys  the 
inharmony  of  disease  by  the  destruction  of  the  false  supposition 
of  a  substance  and  power  other  than,  and  opposite  to,  itself. 

This  habit  of  absolute-  power  without  any  subjective  resistance 
or  difficulty  is  the  true  heaven.  It  is  begun  now  and  here ;  and  in 
Jesus  it  seems  to  have  reached  perfection,  so  that  it  carried  him 
entirely  out  of  our  gross,  sensible  sphere.  He  exemplified  it,  ac- 
cording to  the  Gospels,  not  only  in  securing  organic  soundness  for 
himself  and   many  others,  but  also    in    making  the  body  wholly 


obedient  to  his  holy  purposes.  Compared  with  him  and  our 
proper  moral  condition,  which  he  thus  exemplified,  the  best  of 
Christian  Scientists  are  the  veriest  neophytes.  To  do  a  good  deal 
of  healing  is  a  very  small  thing,  so  long  as  our  body  needs  food^ 
and  clothing,  and  rest,  and  shelter,  and  protection  against  weather 
or  gravitation,  or  any  other  so-called  material  agent, — so  long,  in 
short,  as  it  is  not  realized  as  wholly  fed  and  supported  by  spirit, 
directly,  and  directly  and  absolutely  conformed  to  the  higher  laws 
of  spirit.  This  is  to  be  our  aim  and  goal,  and  the  end  of  all  en- 
deavor. Till  then,  our  progress  is  toward  perfect  spiritual 
harmony;  and  after  that  an  everlasting  progress  in  spiritual 

We  will  now  give  a  brief  account  of  the  origin  of  this  theory, 
so  far  as  it  is  peculiar,  and  of  its  progress  and  present  power  and 

The  theory  of  Christian  Science  Mind-healings  originated  with 
Rev.  Mrs.  Mary  Baker  G.  Eddy.  She  was  for  many  years  an  ex- 
treme sufferer  from  chronic  disease,  and  finally,  by  a  fall,  she 
received,  what  the  physicians  pronounced,  a  fatal  injury,  and  she 
was  given  up  by  them  and  her  family  and  friends  to  die.  They 
gave  her  what  they  supposed  were  to  be  to  her  their  last  words. 

In  the  meanwhile  her  thoughts  had  been  nobly  busy,  and  grad- 
ually rising  to  a  lofty  pitch  of  power,  so  that  she  had  reached  the 
conclusion  that  she  would  not  then  die,  but  be  speedily  and  thor- 
oughly healed.  This  conviction  she  announced  to  them  in  response 
to  their  farewells.  It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  the  doctor  and 
her  pastor  predicted  that  she  would  be  gone  before  noon ;  she 
replied  that  she  would  be  well  then.  Her  pastor  called  again  after 
service,  and  found  her  busy  about  the  house,  like  any  other 
healthy  person.  She  knew  that  she  was  healed  by  the  direct  and 
gracious  exercise  of  the  Divine  Power ;  but  she  was  indisposed  to 
make  an  old-time  miracle  of  it.  She  was  assured  that  it  was  done 
in  accordance  with  spiritual  law,  and  exemplified  a  general  truth, 
which  ought  to  be  known  and  formulated.  She  pondered  the  sub- 
ject for  three  years  before  her  mental  sky  became  clear.  Then 
she  commenced  to  put  her  thoughts  on  paper,  and  to  teach  others, 
ijmong  whom  she  circulated  her  manuscripts — from  1866  to  1875 
— ^when  she  printed  the  first  edition  of  her  "  Science  and  Health/' 


which  has  since  passed  through  twenty-three  editions,  of  a  thou- 
sand each. 

Her  theory  has  been  demonstrated  by  facts  in  healing ;   and  this 

has  multiplied  converts,  till  scores  of  thousands  in  all  parts  of  the 
world  are  counted  as  her  disciples,  in  varying  degrees  of  purity  and 
thoroughness.  They  have  numerous  Associations  all  through  the 
land,  which  meet  at  stated  times  for  mutual  instruction.  Churches 
are  also  springing  up  in  different  places,  and  calling  for  pastors  to 
lead  them.  The  parent  Church  was  organized  in  Boston  in  1883, 
of  which  Mrs.  Eddy  was  ordained  pastor,  which  position  she  still 
retains.  In  September  last  Rev,  Wm.  I.  Gill,  A.M.,  was  made 
associate  pastor,  and  he  regularly  ministers  to  the  Church,  which 
meets  on  Sundays  in  Chickering  Hall.  Boston,  which  the  congrega- 
tion well  fills.    This  meeting  is  held  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Within  the  year,  also,  a  new  Church  has  been  organized  at 
Lawrence,  Mass.,  and  to  this  body,  which  is  very  flourishing,  Rev. 
Mr.  Gill  preaches  every  Sunday  evening. 

Rev.  Mrs.  Eddy,  also,  in  1S82,  began  to  issue  TAe  Christian 
Science  Journal,  now  edited  by  Wm.  I.  Gill,  A.M.,  which  has  now 
attained  a  circulation  of  five  thousand,  published  every  month.  It 
exchanges  with  our  leading  newspapers  and  magazines,  and  there 
are  clear  signs  that  its  influence  is  growing  with  its  circulation. 
Its  leading  article  for  this  month  is  also  issued,  at  the  same  time, 
in  a  prominent  New  York  monthly,  The  Medical  Advocate. 

In  view  of  these  facts  and  of  the  exposition  we  have  furnished, 
it  surely  is  not  too  much  to  hope  that  our  readers  will  not  consider 
it  unreasonably  sanguine  in  Christian  scientists  to  believe,  that  their 
movement  is  not  a  transiant  "  craze,"  but  a  movement  which  has 
in  it  the  elements  of  a  high  and  permanent  destiny,  and  that  it  is  the 
culmination  of  all  the  lines  of  human  progress.  It  is  certain  that 
progress  is  always  in  the  direction  of  greater  mentality  and  spirit- 
uahty,  and  that  in  the  higher  circles  of  thought  materialism  and 
dualism  have  surrendered  to  subjective  idealism,  which  is  the  pre- 
supposition of  Christian  science;  so  that  whoever  despises  this 
foundation  ought  to  despise  himself,  as  inappreciative  of  the 
deepest  thought  of  mankind.  From  these  Christian  science  ap- 
peals to  the  competent — to  those  who  are  equally  philosophical 
and  devout. 




There  are  few  cities  of  considerable  extent  which  present  to 
distant  view  so  eminent  an  object  as  the  State  House  in  Boston. 
The  uniformity  of  surface  in  the  land  generally  renders  it  difficult 
for  any  single  building  to  make  itself  distinguishable  at  a  distance. 
There  are,  however,  a  few  cities  which,  like  our  State  capital,  are 
built  upon  hills,  thus  bringing  into  view  of  the  suburbs  the  struc- 
tures that  surmount  them. 

The  very  city  which  was  the  birthplace  of  the  term  "  suburbs/' 
is  an  instance  of  such  a  conformation  of  land,; — Rome,  that  "sat 
on  seven  hills."  But  here  are  too  many  hills,  and  the  attention  is 
too  much  distracted,  while  the  dome  of  Saint  Peter's  is  too  low  and 
far  from  the  centre  of  the  city  to  bring  the  mass  of  structures  into 
unity  with  itself. 

Edinburgh  offers  an  example  of  a  central  hill  crowned  by 
massive  edifices,  but  this  lifts  itself  so  steeply,  like  the  royalty  of 
which  it  was  an  adjunct,  that  its  structures  are  evidently  separate 
from  the  mass  of  the  town  below. 

It  remained  for  Boston  to  fulfil  all  the  conditions;  offering  its 
bright  apex  to  the  gaze  of  the  traveler  from  whatever  direction  it 
is  approached, — whether  from  the  sea,  or  the  shore,  or  from  the 
direction  of  the  sunset  whose  glory  lights  up  the  golden  dome. 
Then  the  proximity  of  the  Common,  with  its  noble  park,  renders 
it  practically  an  adjunct — and  a  very  suitable  one — of  the  terraces 
of  the  Capitol.  The  architectural  relations  of  the  building,  espe- 
cially of  the  dome  and  cupola,  to  the  structures  on  Beacon  Hill^ 
give  the  mass  a  marked  unity ;  the  gleaming  dome  seeming,  at  a 
distance,  to  belong  to  the  hill  rather  than  to  any  particular  edifice. 
Neither  is  it  less  effective  when  seen  near  at  hand,  especially  from 
Park  street,  which  affords  the  best  view-point  in  the  season  of  leaf- 
age. Its  symmetrical  proportions,  together  with  its  situation^ 
make  it  one  of  the  most  effective  of  public  buildings,  though  many 
surpass  it  in  dimensions  and  cost. 



Its  present  form  is  the  growth  of  almost  a  century,  for  its  con- 
struction was  begun  in  1795,  and  completed  two  years  later.  In 
each  of  the  four  years,  1853-4-5  ^^'^  6>  extensive  improvements 
were  made,  and  a  "new  part"  was  added,  extending  back  to 
Mount  Vernon  street.  Again,  in  1867  changes  were  made  in  the 
interior  of  the  old  part,  by  which  greater  height  in  several  of  the 
larger  rooms  were  obtained,  and  the  Legislative  halls  and  the 
apartments  of  the  executive  were  made  more  commodious.  By 
reconstruction  of  the  old  part,  and  the  finishing  of  rooms  in  the 
new,  upwards  of  thirty  apartments  were  added,  and  an  increase 
of  space  had  been  gained  from  one  hundred  and  three  thousand  to 
about  two  hundred  and  sixty-five  thousand  cubic  feet,  a  net  gain 
of  one  hundred  and  sixty-two  thousand  cubic  feet. 

The  exterior  improvements  connected  with  these  changes  con- 
sisted in  the  removal  of  a  large  number  of  chimneys, —  a  feature 
which  will  be  remembered  by  old  residents  —  which  had  before 
marred  and  concealed  the  original  proportions  of  the  upper  por- 
tion of  the  edifice;  this  diminution  of  chimneys  being  permitted 
by  the  introduction  of  steam  for  heating  purposes. 

At  this  time  two  new  galleries  were  added  to  the  Representa- 
tives' Hall,  and  its  finish,  as  well  as  that  of  the  Senate  Chamber 
was  improved,  though  the  general  proportions  of  the  rooms  were 

The  Council  Chamber  had  its  ceiling  frescoed,  but  the  form  of 
its  ancient  finish  still  remains  unchanged.  The  Governor's  room 
was  enlarged  laterally,  and  its  height  increased  by  adding  to  it  the 
old  "  green  room."  which  was  directly  above.  A  new  "  green 
room"  was  constructed,  more  spacious,  elegantly  finished,  and 
well-lighted  and  ventilated.  The  ceiling  of  Doric  Hall  was  raised 
two  feet,  and  finished  in  panels ;  and  its  floors  were  laid  with  mar- 
ble tile.  Openings  were  made  in  both  wings  between  the  main 
building  and  the  addition  at  the  back,  by  which  spacious  corridors 
were  secured,  leading  directly  to  the  Mount  Vernon  entrance. 
Warm,  fresh,  hydrated  air  for  ventilation  is  now  supplied  to  every 
room  by  a  fan  propelled  by  a  steam  engine,  which  at  the  same 
time  runs  an  exhaust-fan,  removing  the  foul  air  from  the  halls  and 
principal  rooms.  A  steam  pump  forces  water  to  the  upper  part 
of  the  building  through  a  system  of  pipes  to  which  are  attached 


in  the  several  stories  more  than  a  thousand  feet  of  hose,  by  which 
every  room  may  be  drenched  in  case  of  fire.  In  i88i  the  drainage 
was  improved,  and  the  basement  space  increased ;  the  excavations 
being  carried  under  the  front  steps  of  the  building,  which  afforded 
space  for  the  kitchen  of  a  convenient  restaurant.  On  the  west  side 
the  excavations  were  carried  under  the  yard,  affording  space  for 
boilers  and  storage  room  for  five  hundred  tons  of  coal.  The  en- 
trances on  the  east  and  west  ends  were  added  at  this  time. 

The  cost  of  the  original  structure  was  about  $133 ,.000.  The 
improvements  in  the  five  years,  beginning  in  1853,  made  an  ex- 
pense to  the  State  Treasury  of  upwards  of  $170,000, —  including 
additions  of  furniture, — $250,000.  In  1868  about  $6,600  was 
appropriated  to  the  improvement  of  the  Senate  Chamber  and 
Representatives'  Hall;  and  the  work  of  1881  was  accomplished 
at  a  cost  of  above  $45,000.  This  foots  up  to  the  sum  of  $354,- 
600,  as  a  minimum  of  the  cost  of  the  Massachusetts  capitol,  up 
to  the  date  of  the  introduction  of  elevators  in  1885. 

The  land  upon  which  the  State  House  is  built  was  purchased  of 
the  heirs  of  John  Hancock  (first  governor  of  the  State  under  the 
Constitution)  by  the  town  of  Boston,  for  the  sum  of  $4,000,  and 
conveyed  by  the  town  to  the  Commonwealth  on  May  2,  1795. 
The  Commissioners  on  the  part  of  the  town  to  convey  the  "  Gov- 
ernor's Pasture"  (as  it  was  called)  to  the  Commonwealth  were 
William  Tudor,  Charles  Jarvis,  John  Coffin  Jones,  William  Eustis, 
William  Little,  Thomas  Dawes,  Joseph  Russell,  Harrison  Gray 
Otis  and  Perez  Morton.  The  agents  of  the  Commonwealth  for 
constructing  the  edifice  were  named  in  the  deed,  as  follows: 
Thomas  Dawes,  Edward  Hutchinson  Robbins,  and  Charles  Bui- 
finch.  The  latter,  a  citizen  of  Boston,  was  practically  the  architect. 
The  later  interior  improvements  were  made  under  the  direction  of 
Washburn  &  Son. 

The  cornerstone  was  laid  July  4,  1795,  by  Governor  Samuel 
Adams,  who  was  assisted  by  Paul  Revere,  Master  of  the  Grand 
Lodge  of  Masons.  The  stone  was  drawn  to  the  spot  by  fifteen 
white  horses,  representing  the  number  of  States  of  the  Union  at 
the  time.  The  frontage  of  the  building  is  173  feet,  with  a  present 
depth  of  61  feet.  The  height  of  the  edifice,  including  the  dome 
is  no  feet,  while  its  foundation  is  about  the  same  height  above  the 


waters  of  the  bay,  giving  the  lantern  an  elevation  of  220  feet  above 
sea  level.  The  dome  is  fifty-three  feet  in  diameter,  and  thirty-five 
feet  high.  Governor  Banks  suggested  the  idea,  which  in  1874  led 
to  its  being  gilded ;  and  not  a  little  does  this  decoration  aid  in 
sustaining  the  dignity  which  Dr.  Holmes  has  conferred  upon  it 
in  facetiously  styling  it  the  **  Hub  of  the  Universe." 

The  ancient  codfish,  formerly  performing  its  gyrations  beneath 
the  ceiling  of  the  old  **  State  House,"  occupies  a  somewhat  retired 
position  in  the  Representatives'  Hall  of  the  new  one, — indicating 
that  other  and  stronger  interest  than  the  fisheries  of  which  it  was 
the  emblem,  have  gained  the  ascendancy  in  the  capital  of  the 

Several  times  plans  have  been  prepared  and  presented  to  the 
legislators  for  the  erection  of  a  new  State  House,  but  the  repre- 
sentatives of  Massachusetts  have  thus  far  been  prudent  enough  to 
prefer  the  old  house  in  the  accustomed  place.  It  is  to  be  hoped, 
that,  if  in  the  course  of  time  a  third  State  House  shall  arise  (as 
doubtless  there  will)  the  second  may  be  cherished  as  the  first 
capitol  has  been. 




Slender  golden-rod  is  rocking 

Bees  along  the  lane — 
Honey-bees  ;  'tis  here  they  gather 
Sweets  ;  but  ah  !  my  heart  must  rather 

Sorrow's  dark  cup  drain, — 

Bitter  chalice  drain, 
For  remembered  mornings,  flocking, 

Pass,  a  princely  train  ; 
While  the  golden-rod  keeps  rocking 

Bees  along  the  lane. 

70  LUCY   KEYES. 


BY  A.  P.  MARBLE. 



To  the  Postmaster  of  Westminster y  in  the  State  of  Massachusetts  .• 

I,  Tilly  Littlejohn,  am  now  an  old  man,  hard  on  to  ninety.  Six 
weeks  I  have  been  sick,  and  three  days  I  have  been  dying.  The 
doctor  gave  me  up  day  before  yesterday;  but  I  cannot  die  till  I 
tell  the  true  story  of  Lucy  Keyes. 

I  once  had  a  farm  in  Westminster,  east  of  Wachusett,  and 
Robert  Keyes's  joined  mine.  We  quarrelled  about  the  line  fence, 
and  the  referees  decided  against  me.  After  that  I  hated  Keyes, 
and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  He  had  a  happy  family ; 
and  from  my  home  I  could  hear  their  shouts  of  laughter;  and 
Keycs  was  happy.  This  made  me  hate  him  the  more ;  for  I  was 
unmarried  and  alone.  To  this  I  trace  the  ruin  of  that  family  and 
of  my  life.  If  I  had  boldly  sought  and  wed — before  she  chose 
another — the  girl  whom  in  my  youth  I  loved  !  But  I  cannot  tell 
that  story — I  am  too  far  gone.  I  only  wish  the  young  to  be  warned 
by  me.  My  desolate  way  of  living  made  me  a  terror  to  all  chil- 
dren.    I  hated  them,  and  they  feared  me. 

One  summer  afternoon,  in  the  year  1755,  or  thereabouts,  I  was 
crossing  the  path  to  the  lake,  near  Keyes's  field,  when  I  saw  the 
child,  Lucy.  She  saw  me,  and  appeared  frightened,  as  if  I  were  a 
wild  beast.  She  began  to  run  away.  My  anger  was  aroused. 
The  injury  Keyes  had  done  me,  in  robbing  me  of  part  of  my  land ; 
his  prosperity  and  his  happiness,  with  wife  and  children,  and  their 
loathing  of  me — all  this  rushed  into  my  mind,  and  made  me  a 
demon  of  hate.  I  gave  vent  to  my  spite  in  a  heavy  cuff  on  the 
side  of  the  child's  head.  I  did  not  mean  to  kill  her.  I  was  mad, 
and  did  not  know  how  hard  I  struck.     She  fell,  quivering,  at  my 



feet,  and  without  a  groan.  Then  1  thought:  "Here  is  more 
trouble  for  me  on  account  of  that  hateful  Keyes.  If  she  lives, 
they  will  know  it  all,  and  I  shall  be  punished ;  and  she  may  not 
live  —  for  she  now  lay  still  at  my  feet.  I  will  despatch  her."  Mad 
with  hate  and  fear,  I  struck  her  three  heavy  blows  on  the  head 
with  a  stone.  1  then  hid  the  body  in  a  hollow  log,  and  went  to  my 
house.  That  night  Mr.  Keyes  came  to  ask  me  to  help  search  for 
the  child.  I  did  so.  to  prevent  suspicion;  but  1  told  him  that  I 
bad  seen  a  band  of  Indians  the  day  before  on  the  mountain,  and 
that  they  had  probably  stolen  her.  When  I  saw  how  earnest  and 
thorough  they  were  in  the  search,  I  knew  the  body  would  be 
found;  so  I  took  it  from  the  log  and  buried  it  near  the  roots  of  a 
fallen  tree,  scraping  the  earth  from  the  roots  into  the  hollow,  and 
piling  stones  and  rotted  leaves  with  the  earth  above  the  body. 
This  was  lale  in  the  evening.  I  then  built  a  fire  above  the  grave, 
to  conceal  the  place  where  earth  had  been  moved. 

While  I  was  piling  wood  on  the  fire,  the  family  all  came;  and, 
before  long,  men  came  from  Princeton  and  Westminster;  and,  the 
next  day,  from  Lanca.'ster.  When  the  first  ones  came,  I  thought 
they  had  found  me  out;  but  I  kept  on  adding  wood  to  the  fire, 
and  said  nothing.  1  was  so  busy  with  burying  the  child  and  con- 
cealing the  evidence  of  it.  that  I  did  not  think  that  the  bonfire 
would  call  people  together,  though  this  was  always  the  signal — 
so  much  was  I  beside  myself.  But  when  Mr.  Keyes  took  my  si- 
lence as  the  natural  thing  for  me,  and  asked  me  where  the  child 
was  found,  I  saw  that  no  one  suspected  me;  and  their  faces  filled 
me  with  terror,  lest  the  truth  should  be  discovered.  I,  therefore 
told  them  she  was  not  found ;  and  I  made  plans  for  a  more  thor- 
ough search.  I  kept  them  searching  till  they  all  thought  that  the 
Indians  had,  without  doubt,  stolen  the  child.  My  fears  were  then 
at  rest. 

Itwas  a  natural  thing  for  Indians  to  steal  a  child.  Nobody  sus- 
pected me;  and  I  was  safe.  Then  I  went  home,  feeling  free  once 
more.  But  at  sunset  I  heard  the  cry  of  Mrs.  Keyes,  calling  for 
Lucy ;  and  "  Lucy  ! "  "  Lucy  !  "  would  be  repeated  from  the  moun- 
tain, and  then  from  the  hill,  and  then  again  and  again  from  farther 
and  farther  away.  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  spirits  of  the  air  were 
calling  on  me  for  Lucy.     And  then  at  night  I  would  dream  that 

72  LUCY   KEYES. 

Lucy  was  under  my  feet,  and  when  I  went  to  step  upon  her,  in 
hate  of  her  father,  I  would  fall  into  a  deep  pit.  This  would 
awaken  me ;  and  as  the  misty  light  streamed  through  the  trees,  or 
into  the  room,  I  would  seem  to  see  her  before  my  eyes  as  she 
looked  after  that  first  blow.  And  every  night  at  sundown  I  used 
to  hear  the  frantic  mother  calling  for  her  little  girl ;  and  the  echoes 
answered  back  the  call.  The  nights  were  made  hideous  by  my 

I  could  not  stand  it.  And  so,  disposing  of  my  farm,  I  travelled 
to  the  Far  West,  and  took  land  on  the  Mohawk  river,  in  the 
State  of  New  York.  My  home  is  in  Deerfield,  opposite  Utica. 
Here  I  built  me  a  cabin,  and  here  I  have  lived.  The  region  is 
now  full  of  people.  The  great  West  is  now  on  the  shore  of  the 
Mississippi.  Traffic  flows  through  this  valley;  and  all  around  me 
are  fruitful  farms  and  happy  homes.  But  I  have  lived  alone.  The 
neighbors  have  not  known  me.  The  shadow  of  my  dark  deed 
has  hung  over  me.  The  sunset-cry  of  Mrs.  Keyes,  calling  for 
Lucy,  has  been  in  my  ears ;  and  in  dreams  the  child  has  appeared 
to  me,  here,  with  the  sad,  stunned  face.  I  have  longed  for  death 
to  take  me ;  but  death  would  not  come.  Even  with  the  weight  of 
ninety  years  upon  me,  he  will  not  take  me  with  this  burden  of 
guilt  upon  my  soul.  I  want  this  story  to  be  told  to  Robert  Keyesr 
that  I  may  die  and  be  free  from  the  apparition  of  this  innocent 
child,  and  the  haunting  of  the  mother's  voice,  and  the  memory 
of  my  crime. 

(Signed)  TiLLY  LiTTLEJOHN. 

Accompanying  this  confession  was  the  following: — 

Statement  of  Mrs.  Peters. 

Deerfield,  N.  Y.,  August  12,  1815. 
Respected  Sir, — 

I  have  written  the  enclosed  confession,  and  it  is  signed  in  the 
tremulous  hand,  as  you  may  see,  of  Mr.  Littlejohn.  You  will  like 
to  know  the  circumstances.  I  am  a  widow  of  more  than  twenty- 
years,  and  my  children  are  all  dead.  With  my  younger  sister,  her- 
self rising  sixty,  I  have  kept  house  for  Mr.  Littlejohn  these  ten 
years.     He  was  a  neighbor  of  ours  and  lived  alone.     After  my 

husband  died  from  the  effects  of  drink,  my  little  ones  all  having 
died  before,  I  was  living  alone  with  sister  in  the  house,  when  on  a 
summer  night  it  was  burned  with  all  that  we  had.  My  husband's 
habits  had  left  me  deeply  in  debt,  so  that  we  could  keep  the  farm 
no  longer.  I  was  destitute  and  homeless.  In  the  midst  of  the  fire, 
when  we  had  but  just  escaped  from  the  burning  house  with  our 
lives,  Mr.  Littlejohn  appeared  and  began  to  pile  wood  upon  the 
flames.  He  seemed  to  be  out  of  his  head;  and  he  would  say 
nothing  to  us,  but  kept  talking  to  himself  about  Lucy,  He  would 
say,  '■  Lucy  is  not  here;  the  Indians  have  her;  go  and  hunt  for 
the  trail."  Relapsing  into  silence  he  would  pile  on  the  fuel.  When 
the  conflagration  was  over  he  had  disappeared.  The  next  day 
he  came  over  to  find  us.  He  said  that  his  home  and  his  heart 
were  burned  out  more  than  fifty  years  before.  He  was  alone,  and 
we  had  no  home.  He  wanted  us  to  come  and  live  with  him.  We 
went ;  and  since  then  he  has  spared  no  pains  to  make  us  comfort- 
able and  happy. 

We  had  known  him  as  the  Hermit  of  the  Mohawk.  He  had 
avoided  society,  and  had  no  company  but  his  dogs.  He  now  be- 
came more  cheerful  in  the  thought  that  he  was  helping  the  home- 
less. But  every  evening  as  the  sun  went  down,  he  would  hide 
himself  in  his  bed-room ;  and  when  curiosity  led  us  to  peep  in  and 
see  what  he  did  there,  we  saw  him  with  his  face  buried  in  the 
pillow  and  his  hands  stopping  his  ears.  He  must  have  fancied 
that  he  heard  the  mother's  call  for  Lucy — or  was  he  seeking 
pardon  from  on  high?  Perhaps,  both.  For  two  months  past  he 
has  been  growing  feeble,  and  lately  he  has  not  left  his  room.  The 
doctor  said,  two  days  ago,  that  he  was  dying  and  no  medicine 
could  help  him.  Since  then  he  has  taken  no  food.  We  expected 
to  see  him  breathe  his  last  every  hour,  but  he  lingered  on.  Last 
night  he  sat  up  in  his  bed  and  called  me,  He  told  me  to  get  pen 
and  paper  quickly ;  and  then  he  told  me  this  frightful  story  quicker 
than  I  could  write.  When  it  was  done  he  grasped  the  pen  and 
affixed  that  tremulous  name.  He  then  lay  back  on  his  pillow  and 
said  to  me,  "  Don't  hate  me ;  I  did  not  mean  to  do  it.  Stay  with 
me.  I  have  suffered  enough."  I  said,  "  You  have  been  good  to 
us,  we  will  not  leave  you."  He  immediately  expired;  and  we 
shall  bury  him  as  he  had  asked  us  to  do,  in  the  garden  at  the  foot 


of  a  large  elm,  which  he  called  Lucy's  tree,  and  there  he  used  to 
sit  for  hours  in  the  sunny  afternoons. 

Yours  truly, 

Elizabeth  Peters. 

P.  S, — Mr.  Littlejohn  deeded  his  farm  to  me  and  my  sister ;  but 
on  learning  this  sad  story,  we  wish  to  share  it  with  any  poor  re- 
latives of  Mr.  Keyes's.  It  would  be  the  wish  of  the  poor  man  now 
gone.     We  hope  to  hear  from  you  all  about  that  family. 

E.  P. 

The  Postmaster  to  Mrs.  Peters. 

Westminster,  Mass.,  August  25,  1815. 
Dear  Madam^ — 

Your  letter  with  its  strange  contents  is  at  hand.  I  can  not  find 
any  trace  of  the  family  you  mention  in  this  town.  It  is  reported, 
however,  that  a  family  named  Keyes  lived,  some  fifty  or  seventy- 
five  years  ago,  in  the  edge  of  Princeton ;  and  they  lost  a  child, 
stolen,  as  was  reported,  by  the  Indians.  Mr.  Littlejohn  lived  near 
them,  and  joined  in  the  search  for  the  child.  He  disappeared  soon 
after,  and  nothing  has  since  been  heard  of  him. 

The  traditions  of  the  loss  of  Lucy  Keyes  all  correspond  with 
what  you  wrote  from  Mr.  Littlejohn's  own  lips; — all  except  what 
he  alone  knew.  I  will  advertise  for  some  one  of  the  family  and 
inform  you  of  any  success. 

I  am,  very  truly,  yours, 

,  P.  M. 


[From  the  Boston  Journal  oi  Kw^,  26-31,  181 5.] 

Wanted. — Information  concerning  any   descendant  of  Robert  Keyes,  who 
settled  in  Princeton  about  the  year  1755.     I  have  news  of  interest  to  them. 

Address, ,  P.  M., 

Westminster,  Mass. 

In  response  to  this  notice,  came  a  letter  from  Nehemiah  Parker, 
an  old  man  of  about  seventy  years,  who  lived  in  Princeton  two  or 
three  miles  south  of  Mt.  Wachusett.  He  knew  the  story  about  the 
loss  of  the  child ;  and  his  grandmother  was  a  distant  relative  of 
Mr.  Keyes.     On  seeing  the  postmaster  and  reading  the  confession 


he  said  that  he  did  not  wish  any  part  of  Mr.  Littlejohn's  property, 
even  if  he  could  claim  it,  which  was  doubtful;  but  if  no  nearer 
relative  appeared  he  wanted  to  keep  the  letter. 

After  waiting  several  months  and  hearing  from  no  one  else,  the 
Postmaster  wrote,  as  above,  to  Mrs.  Peters,  and  sent  her  letter  and 
the  confession  to  Mr.  Parker.  It  was  seen  in  his  hands,  as  related 
above,  by  Mrs.  Smith,  now  living  on  the  very  farm  which  Robert 
Keyes  first  settled.  The  remains  of  the  old  forge  are  still  to  be 
seen;  and  the  spot  where  Lucy's  home  stood  is  pointed  out. 
Towards  the  mountain  are  also  to  be  seen  the  hollow  where  was 
the  cellar  of  the  Littlejohn  cabin  and  the  well  which  he  had  digged. 
The  way  to  the  lake  and  the  white  sand  on  the  shore  can  be  seen; 
and  the  place  near  the  mountain  road  where  the  bonfire  was  kindled 
to  cover  Lucy's  grave  can  easily  be  imagined.  This  is  all  that  is 
known  of  that  ill-fated  little  girl.  But  she  lived  again  in  memory, 
as  we  shall  see. 

The  vicinity  of  Mt.  Wachusett  has  now  become  a  beautiful 
summer  resort.  The  air  is  pure  and  bracing,  and  on  the  hills 
around  are  built  hotels  and  cottages,  where,  in  summer,  the  weary 
dwellers  in  cities  find  quiet  and  rest.  On  the  south  and  on  the 
north,  railroads  approach  within  a  few  miles,  and  furnish  easy 
communication  with  the  city.  From  the  summit  of  Mt.  Wachu- 
sett, the  view  embraces  parts  of  each  of  the  New  England  States, 
in  a  radius  of  forty-five  or  fifty  miles.  On  the  north  looms  the 
majestic  form  of  Mt.  Monadnock ;  and  farther  to  the  east,  and 
more  distant,  the  grand  summit  of  Mt.  Washington.  Bunker  Hill 
Monument  and  the  gilded  dome  of  the  State  House  are  seen  to 
the  east.  Towards  the  north  the  city  of  Worcester  peeps  out 
from  among  her  cordon  of  hills,  and  the  Norman  clock-tower  of 
the  Union  Passenger  Station  is  plainly  visible:  while  on  all  sides 
are  villages  with  their  white  church  spires,  farms  with  green  fields, 
hills  with  the  darker  green  of  the  forests,  meadows  and  upland, 
lakes  and  streams.  Locomotives  twenty  or  thirty  miles  away  flash 
their  bright-hued  lights  on  the  night  air;  and  the  smoke  from  tall 
chimneys  or  burning  brush,  is  in  sight  by  day,  over  a  circuit  of 
ninety  miles.  In  the  heart  of  Massachusetts  is  a  prospect  broader 
and  more  restful  because  cultivated,  than  any  view  from  Mt.  Wash- 
ington or  the  Alps,  Those  are  peaks  in  the  midst  of  mountains. 
This  is  a  mountain  in  the  midst  of  plains. 


On  the  southern  slope  of  Mt.  Wachusett,  and  twelve  hundred 
feet  below  the  summit,  which  is  only  three-fourths  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, stands  the  Mountain  House,  kept  the  last  quarter  of  a  century 
by  Mr.  M.  H.  Bullard. 

To  this  house  one  afternoon  in  the  summer  of  1880,  drew  a 
single  carriage,  from  which  a  lady  and  gentleman  alighted.  They 
were  Rev.  and  Mrs.  Robert  Keyes,  of  Iowa.  After  dinner  he  made 
inquiries  of  the  host  about  his  ancestor  who  bore  the  same  name ; 
for  it  appeared  that  he  was  a  descendant  of  one  of  the  sons  of 
Robert  Keyes,  who  had  removed  to  Ohio,  and  then  his  sons  had 
gone  to  Iowa.  Lucy  was  aunt  to  his  father,  a  great-aunt  to  this 
Robert  Keyes.  He  knew  the  history  so  far  as  the  traditions  of  the 
family  had  it,  but  the  confession  of  Mr.  Littlejohn  he  now  heard 
for  the  first  time.  He  ordered  his  horse  and  drove  away ;  and  at 
nightfall  he  stood  on  the  spot  where  his  great-grandmother  had 
worn  out  her  life,  vainly  calling  her  lost  daughter,  and  then  he 
went  to  search  for  the  yellow  and  worn-out  paper  which  told  the 
tale.  But  Nehemiah  Parker  had  long  since  passed  away,  and  so 
far  as  we  know,  the  paper,  like  little   Lucy,  eluded  all  efforts   to 

find  it. 

•  ••••• 

But  the  dead  are  not  gone  forever ;  and  the  lost  and  forgotten 
live  again  in  the  lives  of  those  who  survive  them.  There  is  some- 
thing above  a  human  life,  however  brief,  which  is  immortal  even 
here.  In  some  hearts  the  little  sojourner  has  set  vibrating  chords 
whose  tones,  soft  and  sweetly  musical,  have  cheered  the  mourners 
for  years  and  years,  amidst  the  turmoils  of  life,  and  in  the  daily 
toil  and  care, — or  those  chords  wrenched  and  out  of  tune,  may  have 
sounded  naught  but  woe,  like  the  long  lament  of  Mrs.  Keyes,  or 
discord  like  the  life  of  Mr.  Littlejohn.  And  such  an  influence  is 
not  to  be  traced ;  it  is  lost  to  sight  like  a  golden  thread  in  some 
gorgeous  tapestry,  to  reappear  in  the  composition  of  another  fig- 
ure ;  or,  if  of  a  darker  shade,  to  form  the  background,  without 
which  the  coloring  loses  its  eflect.  Even  the  early  leaves,  rudely 
scattered  by  the  wind,  and  blighted  buds  are  not  without  their 
fruit,  for  they  have  helped  to  form  the  mold  from  which  the  forest 
is  nourished,  and  in  the  very  production  of  these  frost-bitten  buds, 
the  trees  have  gained  strength  by  the  exertion  of  their  natural  and 
healthy  activity. 


•  •  •     "  But  see  again, 
How  in  the  faltering  footsteps  of  decay 
Youth  crosses,  ever  gay  and  beautiful  youth 

In  all  its  beautiful  forms."  •  •  • 

•  ■  ■     u  o,  there  is  not  lost 
One  of  earth's  charms  ;  upon  her  bosom  yet, 
After  the  flight  of  untold  centuries, 
The  freshness  of  her  far  beginning  lies, 
And  yet  shall  lie  ;    Life  marks  the  idle  hate 
Of  his  arch-enemy.  Death,  yet  seats  himself 
Upon  the  tyrant's  throne,  the  sepulchre. 
And  of  the  triumphs  of  his  ghastly  foe 
Makes  his  own  nourishment." 

It  is,  as  an  illustration  of  this  truth,  that  the  final  part  of  the 
story  of  Lucy  is  the  most  interesting.  In  that  same  summer  of 
1880,  I  was  spending  a  brief  vacation  at  the  Mountain  House,  and 
on  the  summit  1  chancei^  to  fall  in  with  the  Rev,  Robert  Keyes. 
who  had  just  returned  from  his  search  for  the  yellow  paper,  with 
the  above  story  fresh  in  his  mind.  He  gave  it  to  me  as  it  is  here 
related;  and  it  had  for  me  a  strange  fascination,  I  visited  the 
place  where  the  house  had  stood,  and  looked  upon  the  scene 
where  the  little  girl's  life  had  so  soon  been  blotted  out,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  years  before.  Of  course  the  story  found 
currency  among  the  guests,  who  whiled  away  the  hours  in  the 
cool  shadow  of  the  mountain  and  the  trees,  or  on  the  broad  hotel 
piazza,  which  overlooks  the  county  of  Middlesex,  and  a  large 
part  of  Worcester. 

Among  these  guests  were  two  young  people  who  had  met  here 
for  the  first  time,  though  their  families  were  known  to  each  other. 
Harry  Kensington,  the  son  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished  public 
men,  had  only  the  year  before  entered  the  profession  of  the  law; 
and  he  now  began  to  feel  that  assurance  of  success  which  gave 
him  confidence.  Mina  Holt  was  the  daughter  of  a  prosperous 
merchant,  just  from  school.  They  had  made  one  of  those  chance 
acquaintances  which  sometimes  begin  in  the  unconventional  asso- 
ciation of  those  summer  resorts  where  fashion  does  not  reign  su- 
preme and  banish  all  comfort.  These  acquaintances  occasionally 
begin  with  the  trifling  circumstance  of  some  little  politeness  shown 


— the  rescuing  of  a  hat  carried  off  by  the  wind,  or  the  slight  help 
given  when  a  lady  happens  to  slip  on  the  rocks,  with  no  other  es- 
cort near ;  even  the  occupying  of  a  seat  in  a  crowded  coach  or  at 
table,  where  to  be  glum  and  silent  seems  rude,  and  a  word  or  two 
of  conversation  is  appropriate,  in  recognition,  merely,  of  their 
common  humanity.  Of  course  the  when,  and  the  who,  and  the 
how  in  any  such  chance  acquaintance  determines  its  character ; 
and  the  good  sense  which  guides  the  parties  in  it  is  not  less  con- 
spicuous than  the  same  fine  quality  and  good  breeding  in  any 
other  circumstances. 

Harry  Kensington  and  Mina  Holt  had  formed  one  of  these 
casual  acquaintances;  and  there  was  between  them  enough  of 
that  mutual  attraction  which  mothers  and  chaperones  watch  Mrith 
interest,  to  have  already  exhausted  the  weather  and  the  scenery 
as  subjects  of  conversation,  when  the  story  of  Lucy  Keyes  was 
first  told  at  the  hotel.  In  relating  that  story,  Harry  found  his 
first  chance  to  hold  a  prolonged  conversation  with  Mina.  It  was 
on  a  sultry  afternoon  when  he  came  upon  her,  writing  letters  in 
the  breezy  shade,  on  a  hill  behind  the  house ;  while  her  friend,  the 
schoolmistress,  given  to  the  study  of  Art,  sat  near,  absorbed  in 
reading  Ruskin.  The  spot  is  in  sight  of  the  old  Keyes  farm.  The 
story  was  much  amplified  by  Harry ;  for  he  became  eloquent  in 
its  recital,  through  the  interest  reflected  in  Mina's  face.  It  often 
happens  so :  the  trifling  becomes  important  from  its  surroundings. 
The  story  of  Lucy  Keyes  had  become  the  telephone  through 
which  two  hearts  were  to  find  expression,  and  the  spot  where  she 
had  dwelt,  the  bridge  on  which  Love  crossed.  This  story  had 
served  to  give  the  acquaintance  sufficient  character  for  it  to  be 
recognized.  Once  born,  the  intimacy  grew  rapidly.  There  was 
the  climb  to  the  summit,  when  Harry  acted  as  escort  to  the  young 
ladies ;  and  while  the  teacher  was  absorbed  in  the  beauty  of  the 
blue  lakes,  the  fleecy  clouds,  and  the  color  of  the  landscape, 
Harry  was  still  more  absorbed  in  the  liquid  blue  of  Mina's  eyes, 
the  soft  white  of  her  throat,  and  the  changing  color  of  her  cheeks. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  relate  that  the  ascent  was  made  more  than 
once,  and  that  the  path  down  the  eastern  slope  of  the  mountain, 
which  led  to  the  Keyes  house,  was  sometimes  preferred,  because  it 
furnished  a  longer  walk  home ;  nor  need  it  be  mentioned  that  the 


teacher  would  sit  many  a  half-hour  in  the  shadow  of  the  moun- 
tain, with  her  portfolio,  sketching,  while  Harry  and  Mina  sat  apart 
on  a  rocky  ledge  and — did  not  sketch.  It  will  readily  be  seen  that 
these  two  had  fine  excuses  for  carriage  drives  in  visiting  Redemp- 
tion Rock,  Wachusett  Lake,  the  Parker  Place,  and  the  Mountain 
Road — all  to  learn  about  Lucy  Keyes.  Who  but  they  ever  sup- 
posed that  to  be  the  attraction  ? 

Soon  that  delightful  summer  had  gone;  and  I  lost  sight  of 
Harry  and  Mina,  and  no  longer  thought  of  the  story  of  Lucy 
Keyes.  But  on  my  return,  this  year,  I  find  the  lost  and  the  for- 
gotten may  live  through  the  influence  that  goes  out  from  their 
existence,  while  the  living  may  produce  no  perceptible  effect. 
What  Mr.  Keyes  did  we  do  not  know.  The  influence  of  the  little 
child,  dead  more  than  a  century,  appeared  before  me ;  and  two 
people,  unrelated  to  her,  and  to  whom  she  was  unknown,  had  re- 
turned here  to  bless  her  memory,  in  contemplation  of  which  the 
tender  passion  first  awoke  which  made  them  one. 

On  the  hotel  register  I  saw  this : 

"  Harry  Kensington,  wife,  child,  and  nurse. 
They  had  named  the  little  girl  Lucy  Keyes. 





An  unwholesome  as  well  as  an  unforeseen  combination  of  circum- 
stances, whose  recital  would  in  no  sense  be  profitable  to  the  readers  of 
the  New  England  Magazine,  compelled  a  suspension  of  its  issue  at 
the  close  of  the  last  volume,  and  has  prolonged  that  suspension  much 
beyond  the  expectations  of  the  publishers.  They  have  only  unaffected 
regrets  to  offer  for  so  unpromising  an  occurrence,  accompanied,  how- 
ever, by  the  consciousness  that  nothing  was  left  unattempted  by  them 
to  secure  the  earliest  possible  extrication  from  the  temporary  embarass- 
ment.  It  has  only  come  now,  but  the  delay  has  also  served  to  make  a 
repetition  of  such  an  experience  impossible.  So  far  as  the  public  is 
interested  in  this  statement,  or  has  a  right  to  be  informed  in  relation  to 
the  details  it  implies,  the  present  proprietors  are  prepared  to  give  the 
best  practical  satisfaction  in  the  assurance  that  the  Magazine  will  hence- 
forth proceed  without  further  interruption,  apprehended  or  contingent, 
and  that  all  subscribers  will  receive  the  full  number  of  issues  for  which 
they  have  already  paid  or  shall  pay. 

November  is  Thanksgiving  month,  and  this  is  therefore  the  Thanks- 
giving number.  The  Governor  of  Massachusetts  took  the  lead  and 
appointed  the  25th  for  the  observance  of  the  dear  old  domestic  festival. 
It  used  to  snow,  and  the  ground  was  generally  hard  frozen,  when 
Thanksgiving  came  round  ;  but  the  times  are  changed,  and  we  along 
with  them.  Nevertheless,  the  strongly  distinct  flavor  of  the  old  family- 
holiday  remains  yet,  and  an  unknown  posterity  continues  a  custom 
whose  prolonged  honor  its  originators  could  hardly  have  foreseen.  If 
this  annual  event  possessed  no  other  meaning  and  instructed  in  no  other 
lesson,  it  would  be  enough  that  it  served  to  draw  together  in  a  restored 
circle  the  scattered  members  of  the  family,  and  to  revive  in  their  hearts 
tlie  tender  memories  and  endeared  associations  of  Home.  Family- 
separations  are  far  more  complete  in  the  present  day  than  they  were 
before  railroads  rent  the  country  asunder  even  while  they  were  binding 
it  more  closely  together.  The  Thanksgiving  reunions,  therefore,  are 
correspondingly  incomplete.  But  the  hallowed  institution  nevertheless 
survives  in  all  its  vigor  under  confessed  change  of  conditions,  and  no 
day  in  the  vear  so  warms  the  heart  and  illuminates  the  home  as  the  one 
that  is  at  hand. 


The  labor  problem  is  by  no  means  one  of  ready  solution  by  either 
side  on  the  question  involved.  Grave  difficulties  and  wearisome  de- 
lays are  to  be  encountered  before  that  solution  shall  be  even  approxi- 
mately furnished.  The  vociferous  debate  over  it  suggests  the  story  of  the 
Tower  of  Babel  to  thoughtful  minds.  Rather  than  concentrate  so  much 
study  on  the  purely  superficial  phases  and  fleeting  features  of  the  matter, 
it  would  appear  to  be  far  more  consistent  with  a  professedly  high  civili- 
zation, like  our  own,  to  direct  all  our  corrective  efforts  at  the  recognized 
root  of  the  whole  matter.  Of  what  avail  is  it  to  consider  present  dis- 
turbances of  the  mutual  relation  of  labor  and  capital  from  standpoints 
wholly  devoid  of  sense,  logic,  or  any  penetrative  knowledge  of  their 
real  cause.'*  Go  to  the  bottom  of  the  matter,  and  see  if  the  whole  of 
that  and  all  the  rest  of  existing  inharmony  of  relation  does  not  spring 
from  the  ruling  desire  for  material  acquisition,  which,  from  long  habit, 
has  both  stunted  and  obstructed  the  growth  and  activity  of  the  higher 
and  the  immortal  qualities  of  man,  his  only  real  being. 

It  is  thoroughly  gratifying  to  note  the  fact  that  the  study  of  history 
in  its  various  departments  is  on  the  rapid  increase.  By  the  help  of 
such  a  pursuit  we  are  guided  more  securely  in  the  uncertain  path  of  the 
future  of  all  our  explorations.  It  is  the  earnest  purpose  of  this  Maga- 
zine to  popularize  history,  to  bring  it  close  to  all  persons'  apprehension 
and  appreciation.  Heretofore,  historical  publications  have  tended 
decidedly  to  dry,  prosy  biography  and  the  petty  detail  of  data  of  inter- 
est too  exclusively  local.  The  New  England  Magazine  is  a  pioneer 
in  the  great  work  of  clothing  instructive  and  valuable  historic  facts  in  a 
dress  as  attractive  and  as  full  of  present  interest  as  will  prove  valuable 
for  the  future  historian,  and  for  posterity  at  large. 

Well  may  an  intelligent  and  thoughtful  person,  who  has  not  yet 
forgotten  the  mandate,  "Man,  know  thyself,"  —  who  is  likewise 
alive  to  the  everlasting  truth  of  progression,  ask,  What  is  Christianity.'* 
Is  there  more  than  one  theology,  namely,  that  taught  of  Christ.'*  and, 
whither  have  we  drifted.'*  Never  did  it  appear  more  plain  that  history 
continues  to  repeat  itself,  and  that  this  age  of  ours  was  never  surpassed 
by  any  preceding  one  in  genuine  idolatry.  The  difference  is  merely 
one  of  custom,  form,  and  degree.  In  point  of  fact,  a  far  larger  per- 
centage of  aim,  effort,  and  devotion  is  given  in  this  day  to  matters  of 
materiality,  to  superficial  selfishness,  than  to  the  things  which  pertain 
to  immortal  life.      The  sooner,  therefore,  the  soul  —  each  individual 


person  —  reverses  the  current  and  prevailing  rule  of  life,  which  covet- 
ously exacts  at  least  nine-tenths  of  its  mortal  existence  as  a  tribute  to 
what  is  purely  temporal  and  passing,  and  indifferently  gives  the  remain- 
ing tenth  to  what  have  become  not  much  more  than  blind  and  passive 
longings  of  the  soul,  the  sooner  life  will  begin  in  earnest  and  with  ' 
substantial  hope  of  happiness. 

The  objections  which  refined  and  sensitive  natures  entertain  to  a  life 
in  the  country  are,  after  all,  quite  as  much  sensuous  as  spiritual.  They 
are  shocked,  as  it  were,  with  the  common  gossip  that  thickens  tlie 
social  atmosphere,  when  the  truth  is  that  they  only  demand  gossip  of  a 
better  quality.  Their  objections,  too,  are  social,  and  not  fundamental. 
They  crave  the  warmth  of  a  clear  atmosphere,  though  it  is  at  the 
expense  of  the  oxygen  for  the  health  of  their  spirit's  lungs.  The  ideal 
mind  that  takes  note  of  what  passes  in  country  life  only  reports  what 
are  the  capabilities  of  that  life  ;  poi  trays  its  interior  significance  ;  shows 
what  spirit  of  beauty  lies  slumbering  in  its  external  form  and  fibre  ;  and 
paints  the  sort  of  life  which  so  many  of  its  large  and  free  features  sug- 

The  Family  being  the  Unit  of  the  State,  it  is  essential  that  it  be 
kept  an  integer  throughout.  Society  exists  only  on  the  basis  of  its 
individual  elements,  which  again,  in  classification  and  stratification, 
form  its  component  parts.  As  we  cannot  conceive  of  our  relation  to 
the  human  mass  except  as  we  are  first  conscious  of  our  individuality,  so 
we  are  unable  to  recognize  our  relation  to  society  and  the  State  but 
through  our  existence  in  families.  People  are  set  apart  in  this  way  that 
they  may  the  better  feel  the  call  of  social  necessity.  In  a  lump,  there 
could  be  no  such  thing  as  Society.  Nor  could  we  successfully  compass 
it  as  individuals.  It  is  the  grouping  process  that  takes  us  separately 
and  fits  us  into  our  place  in  the  social  state.  And  this  is  no  chance 
mercl}',  but  inflexible  law,  which  we  cannot  disregard  or  disobey, 
because  it  lias  its  roots  in  the  very  instincts  of  our  nature.  Thus  much 
for  the  philosophy  of  the  matter,  which  will  readily  occur  to  the  com- 
monest reflection. 

The  entries  of  fresh  students  in  our  New  England  Colleges,  this  fall, 
are  noticeably  large,  in  almost  all,  if  not  in  all,  instances  showing  a  de- 
cided numerical  increase.  College  education  is  something  that  has  been 
believed  in,  in  this  eastern  section  of  tlie  country,  from  the  beginning  of 


its  settlement.  Many  a  father  has  said  to  his  son,  "  I  can  leave  you 
nothing  but  a  good  name  and  example,  but  I  will  equip  you  with  an 
education. "  That  has  been  the  spirit  down  to  this  day,  and  that  is 
why  our  Colleges  are  all  of  them  so  well  sustained  and  flourishing. 
They  teach  sound  morals  as  well  as  train  the  intellectual  faculties,  and 
thus  send  forth  into  the  life  of  the  world  men  of  character  as  well  as 
capacity.  The  College  in  our  country  will  not  easily  be  superseded  by 
the  University,  for  it  answers  as  completely  as  any  educational  method 
can  to  the  actual  and  immediate  wants  of  the  social  life  of  the  time  we 
chance  to  illustrate. 

The  simple  secret  of  Youth  is  the  making  of  the  world  into,  though 
not  out  of  the  Present.  We  need  not  be  oppressed,  cither,  with  any 
fear  of  changing  our  views  continually.  It  is  the  idolatry  of  consistency 
that  dries  up  the  fountain.  We  have  by  no  means  yet  seen  so  much  of 
life  as  to  feel  warranted  in  drooping  our  lids  and  declaring  that  they 
take  in  all.  No  man  can  put  faith  in  immortality,  and  not  believe,  to 
the  extent  and  measure  of  that  faith,  in  immortal  youth.  Life,  here  or 
elsewhere,  is  but  a  perpetual  present.  It  is  God's  own  creation  every 
moment,  as  much  so  as  when  time  began  ;  and  when  we  catch  but 
glimpses  of  that  fact  we  become  illuminated.  Why  should  not  the  rose 
refuse  to  blow  because  it  must  fade  and  fall?  The  spirit  of  the  rose 
would  not  be  there,  if  the  faintest  visible  shadow  crossed  the  joy  of  its 
swelling  heart.  It  is  that  very  spirit  which  creates  the  rose,  and  will 
continue  the  work  of  creation. 

Although  the  weather  was  very  unpropitious  for  the  ceremonies 
attending  the  inauguration  of  the  Bartholdi  Statue  of  Liberty,  on  Bed- 
loe's  Island,  in  New  York  harbor,  the  occasion  was  nevertheless  made 
memorable  by  an  imposing  popular  demonstration,  including  a  mili- 
tary pageant  and  a  naval  display  such  as  is  rarely  witnessed  on  the 
American  continent.  The  statue  that  has  been  erected  there  is  of 
colossal  size,  and  bears  an  uplifted  torch,  whose  highest  point  is  305 
feet  above  the  ocean  level.  The  motto  that  goes  descriptively  with  the 
statue,  is  —  "  Liberty  Enlightening  the  World,  "  and  the  noble  verses 
of  the  poet  Whittier  best  convey  its  full  significance  to  the  mind  of  the 
beholder.  The  conception  of  such  a  colossal  work  of  art  dates  back 
twenty  years,  and  soon  afterwards  its  now  famous  creator,  Bartholdi, 
selected  with  his  own  eyes  the  fitting  place  for  its  final  erection.  It 
symbolizes  the  spirit  of  liberty  for  all  nations,  the  two  which  first  pro- 


claimed  it  as  the  inspiration  and  life  of  the  governing  law  being  the 
ones  directly  concerned  in  the  construction  and  placing  of  the  massive 
and  magnificent  symbol. 

In  the  midst  of  our  modern  materialism,  which  compels  pursuits  less 
and  less  calculated  to  kindle  lofty  sentiments  of  any  description,  an 
event  like  the  erection  of  this  noble  statue,  the  visible  embodiment  of  so 
much  that  is  exalted  and  pure  and  free,  comes  like  a  providential  epi- 
sode to  break  the  tyranny  of  self-seeking  and  the  cruelty  of  pride,  and 
to  invite  the  popular  thought  away  from  the  bogs  of  greed  and  conceit 
to  the  healthy  hills  where  the  human  spirit  can  breathe  tlie  pure  and 
bracing  airs  of  worshipful  freedom  and  a  larger  life.  It  becomes  far 
more  than  a  permanent  token,  always  worthy  of  a  reverential  regard,  of 
the  exemplary  friendship  of  France  and  America  at  a  period  of  national 
unrest  and  convulsion  ;  for  it  stands  as  the  recognized  sentinel  of 
liberty  on  the  bulwarks  of  civilization,  flinging  the  free  rays  of  its 
lighted  torch  out  into  the  gloom  of  the  world's  continuous  contentions, 
warning  the  enemies  of  human  freedom  against  further  conspiracies 
for  its  suppression,  and  defending  the  ground  it  has  already  won  for  the 
enjoyment  of  the  human  race  under  divinely  favored  conditions. 


The  earthquake  that  so  nearly  destroyed  Charleston,  S.  C.,on  the 
night  of  August  31st,  and  excited  such  terror  over  a  large  extent  of 
country,  has  returned   for  briefer  and  more  gentle  visits  a  number  or 
times  since,  making  itself  felt,  however,  only  at  the  place  of  its  origin. 
The  various  theories  respecting  its  cause  continue  conspicuous  for  their 
disagreement,  no  explanation  yet  advanced  being  of  a  satisfactory  char- 
acter to  all   sides.     It  is  well  known  that  a  similar  disturbance  of  the 
earth's  crust  occurred  in  Greece,  the  Ionian  Islands,  and  other  lands  of 
the  Mediterranean  Sea,  on  the  29th  of  August.     Some  60,000  houses 
were   destroyed  and  several  hundred  persons  killed,  from  overturn  by 
earthquake  of  four  considerable  towns  and  a  large  number  of  villages 
in  the  Southwestern  Peloponnesus.     And  an  eruption  of  ]Mt.  Vesuvius 
occurred  about  the  same  time. 

The  meeting  of  the  Board  for  tr}ing  the  charges  of  heresy  brought 
against  five  Professors  in  the  Andover  Theological  Seminary  took  place 
at  the  United  States  Hotel,  in  Boston,  on  the  iSth  of  October,  eminent 
legal  counsel  appearing  for  both  sides. 


October  abounded  in  the  annual  agricultural  fairs,  from  one  end  of 
New  England  to  the  other.  The  New  England  Society,  united  with 
the  Eastern  Maine,  held  a  week's  most  successful  exhibition  of  agri- 
culture at  Bangor  on  the  ist  of  September,  while  the  young  Bay  State 
Agricultural  Society  gave  a  truly  brilliant  one  in  Mechanics*  Building, 
Boston,  continuing  an  entire  week. 

Centennial  town  celebrations  have  been  what  may  almost  be  called 
plentiful,  all  the  summer  and  into  the  autumn.  Old  Dedham  cele- 
brated its  250th  anniversary  in  September ;  and  the  town  of  Woodstock, 
Conn.,  commemorated  its  200th  anniversary  on  the  2Sth  of  August. 
Other  New  England  towns  indulged  in  similar  public  observances, 
which  are  of  great  efficiency  in  concentrating  local  sentiment  and  cul- 
tivating the  local  historic  spirit. 

«  * 

A  more  than  interesting  dispute  has  grown  out  of  a  reported  conver- 
sation between  ex-Minister  James  Russell  Lowell  and  Mr.  Julian 
Hawthorne,  the  substance  of  which  was  published  by  the  latter  in  the 
New  York  World,  The  interview  was  held  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Lowell's  daughter,  Mrs.  Burnett,  at  Southboro',  Mass.  It  was  made 
to  yield  an  unusual  amount  of  opinion  on  English  topics,  professedly 
given  by  the  ex-Minister,  whose  opportunities  for  forming  them  must 
be  pronounced  exceptionally  good.  Mr.  Lowell  repudiates  almost  all 
of  it,  and  protests  that  he  had  not  the  remotest  suspicion  of  being  sub- 
jected to  the  interviewer's  operation  ;  while  Mr.  Hawthorne  expresses 
equal  surprise  at  being  told  that  Mr.  Lowell  was  unaware  of  the  pur- 
pose of  the  conversation.  The  dispute  is  one  that  is  quite  likely  to 
enlist  the  sympathies  of  the  personal  and  family  friends  of  both  gentle- 
men, and  thus  to  lead  to  private  contention,  if  not  positive  alienation. 

«  * 

The  discovered  defalcations  of  William  Gray,  Jr.,  who  immediately 
committed  suicide,  and  of  Samuel  G.  Snelling,  who  has  pleaded  guilty 
and  been  sentenced  to  a  seven-years*  term  of  imprisonment  in  the 
Charlestown  State  prison,  both  treasurers  of  large  manufacturing  cor- 
porations, with  offices  in  Boston ;  also  of  George  M.  Bartholomew  of 
Hartford,  Conn.,  the  president  of  a  number  of  rich  corporations,  and 
of  Cashier  Gould  of  the  National  Bank  in  Portland,  Me., — all  four  be- 
ing men  of  the  highest  social  and  financial  standing  previous  to  their 
downfall,  and  their  cases  coming  out  to  the  public  almost  simultaneously 


and  within  the  past  few  months,  caused  a  sudden  explosion  of  fears  in 
business  circles  that  at  first  threatened  a  panic  ;  but  the  banking  institu- 
tions stood  steady  all  through  the  exciting  confusion  of  financial  and 
popular  sentiment,  and  thus  helped  to  cool  the  general  view  of  the 
situation  and  hasten  the  restoration  of  public  confidence.  Such  a  closely 
connected  series  of  episodes  in  business  and  financial  history  is  very 
remarkable,  but  it  is  still  doubtful  if  it  leaves  behind  it  the  plain  lesson 
of  business  honesty,  which  is  to  be  learned  anew  by  the  age  that  has 
trifled  with  it  so  recklessly. 

The  long  drought  that  has  prevailed  throughout  New  England  since 
last  summer,  and  which  even  the  regular  recurrence  of  the  autumnal 
equinox  was  unable  to  interrupt,  was  finally  ended  by  the  northeast 
storm  which  set  in  on  the  27th  of  October,  and  continued  for  several 
days.  The  apprehension  was  being  wide  spread  that  winter  might  set 
in  before  the  natural  springs  in  the  earth  were  fed  by  seasonable  rains  ; 
and  the  farmers  of  New  England,  who  depend  directly  upon  these,  ex- 
perienced deep  sensations  of  relief  at  the  welcome  return  of  the  rain. 


The  Methodist  Ministerial  Association  of  Maine,  at  their  meeting- 
held  iit  Goodwin  Falls,  adopted  a  resolution  in  disapproval  of  the  action 
of  the  Old  Orchard  Camp-Meeting  Association  in  extending  an  invita- 
tion to  Rev.  Dr.  Simpson  to  hold  a  Faith  Convention  at  Old  Orchard 

next  summer. 

•  « 

The  Massachusetts  team  was  formally  presented  with  the  Creedmoor 
prizes  for  marksmanship,  which  were  won  by  them  with  such  general 
applause  some  months  ago, — the  value  of  one  of  them  being  $3,500  and 
of  the  other  $500. 

«  « 

At  the  first  meeting  and  dinner  of  the  Liberal  Union  Club  of  Boston, 
at  Young's  Hotel  on  October  31st,  Dr.  Samuel  Kneeland  of  the  Mas- 
sachusetts Institute  of  Technology,  discoursed  in  a  most  instructive 
manner  on  the  nature,  causes,  and  effects  of  earthquakes. 

«  « 

General  Francis  A.  Walker,  President  of  the  Massachusetts  Institute 
of  Technology,  is  at  present  engaged  in  writing  for  publication  his 
personal  reminiscences  of  the  late  civil  war. 


The  commemoration  of  the  250th  anniversary  of  the  founding  of 
Harvard  College  is  to  take  place  this  month,  on  the  5th,  and  the  cere- 
monies will  continue  four  days.  The  second  or  under-graduates*  day  is 
expected  to  be  the  liveliest  of  the  four.  The  fourth  day  will  be  Alumni 
Day,  when  James  Russell  Lowell  is  to  deliver  an  address,  and  Oliver 
Wendell  Holmes  will  read  a  poem,  and  honorary  degrees  will  be  con- 

«  « 

Alfred  Russell  Wallace,  LL.D.,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of 
British  scientists,  and  the  conceded  discoverer  of  the  idea  which  Dar- 
win more  fully  developed,  lectures  on  "Darwinism,"  at  the  Lowell 
Institute  in  Boston,  during  the  current  month,  giving  a  course  of  eight 


Colonel  Joseph  Selden  died  in  Norwich,  Conn.,  on  the  tenth  of 
March  last,  at  the  age  of  63  years.  He  was  born  in  Lyme,  Conn.,  in 
1822,  and  represented  both  that  town  and  the  city  of  Norwich  in  the 
Legislature,  and  earned  his  military  title  by  honorable  service  during 
the  war  with  the  South.  He  was  United  States  Internal  Revenue  Col- 
lector in  his  district  from  1869  to  1885.  Col.  Selden  was  a  lineal  de- 
scendant of  Thomas  Selden,  who  settled  in  Hartford  in  1635,  through 
his  son  Joseph,  who  settled  in  Lyme. 

«  « 

Sylvester  Gilderslbbve  died  at  Portland  Centre,  Conn.,  March 
15,  at  the  advanced  age  of  91  years  and  17  days.  He  was  a  grandson 
of  Obadiah  Gildersleeve,  who  came  from  Sag  Harbor,  L.  I.,  and 
established  the  Gildersleeve  shipyard  in  1776.  To  the  business  his  son 
Philip  succeeded,  and  Sylvester  took  it  from  his  father.  The  latter  was 
bom  in  Portland,  Conn.,  February  25,  1795.  When  but  twenty  years 
of  age  he  went  to  Sackett's  Harbor,  N.  Y.,  to  superintend  the  building 
of  a  one-hundred-gun  ship  for  the  Government,  but  whose  completion 
was  stopped  by  the  closing  of  the  war  with  England.  In  his  day  he 
built  more  than  one  hundred  vessels,  one  of  which  was  destroyed  by 
the  Confederate  cruiser  Alabama. 

Mr.  Oliver  Swain,  the  oldest  Freemason  in  New  Bedford,  Mass., 
died  October  26,  at  the  age  of  90.  He  kept  the  first  shoe  store  in  New 
Bedford,  and  continued  in  the  business  for  over  fifty  years. 


Mr.  Israel  K.  Jewett,  of  Ipswich,  Mass.,  died  suddenly  on  the 
26th  of  October.  Mr..  Jewett  was  eighty-seven  years  old.  He  had 
been  engaged  in  the  grocery  business  in  Ipswich  for  more  than  sixty- 
two  years,  and  occupied  the  same  store  during  the  whole  of  that  time. 

«  « 

Attorney-General  Mason  W.  Tappan  died  at  his  home  in 
Bradford,  N.  H.,  on  the  25th  of  October,  from  the  effects  of  apoplexy, 
with  which  he  was  stricken  on  the  ist  of  the  month.  He  was  a  man  of 
State  distinction.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  citizens  from  every  part 
of  New  Hampshire  as  well  as  from  other  States.  His  age  was  sixty- 

Jami:s  a.  Dupee,  a  well-known  financial  agent  in  Boston,  and  for 
some  years  past  treasurer  of  the  Appleton  and  Hamilton  Manufacturing 
Companies  of  Lowell,  died  suddenly  in  that  city  on  a  late  day  in 
October,  at  the  age  of  67  years. 

*  « 

IIox.  J.  B.  Clark,  of  Manchester,  N.  H.,  died  by  his  own  hand  in 
the  latter  part  of  October,  the  cause  being  ascribed  to  chagrin  over 
political  disappointment.  Mr.  Clark  was  one  of  the  best  known 
citizens  of  New  Hampshire,  as  he  was  one  of  the  most  public  spirited. 

Mr.  Nathan  Prince,  of  Danvers,  ^lass.,  died  on  the  29th  of 
October,  at  the  age  of  nearly  90  years.  He  was  a  member  of  the 
Massachusetts  Charitable  Mechanics*  Association,  a  master  builder  by 
profession,  and  in  his  prime  one  of  the  most  active  in  Boston. 

«  * 

Miss  Mary  Orne  Pickering,  of  Salem,  Mass.,  grand-daughter  of 
the  late  Col.  Timothy  Pickering,  the  eminent  jurist  and  officer  of  the 
Revolutionary  Army,  died  in  October.  She  came  of  sterling  Salem 
stock.  Her  ancestry  is  among  the  most  honored  in  the  old  colonial 
city.  Her  father,  Hon.  John  Pickering,  was  a  leader  of  the  bar  and  a 
noted  oriental  and  classical  scholar.  She  was  distinguished  for  her 
high  literary  culture,  and  inherited  the  talents  of  her  father. 

«  « 

C01-.  CiiARi-ES  Gordon  Greene,  the  founder  of  the  Boston  Posi^ 
<licd  on  the  25th  of  September,  at  his  residence  in  Boston.  Col.  Greene 
was  widely  known  among  newspaper  men  in  his  day  and  in  the  coun- 



■cils  and  active  work  of  the  Democratic  party,  to  which  he  belonged, 
and  in  his  time  the  Post  ^aB  one  of  the  most  popular  papers  of  the 
country.     His  age  was  Sz. 

Hon.  Thomas  Parsons  died  in  Brookline  in  October.  A  well- 
known  public  man  and  a  sterling  citizen.  His  funeral  was  largely  at- 
tended, Governor  Robinson  and  other  Stale  officials  being  present,  the 
Stale  Board  of  Prison  Commissioners,  of  which  the  deceased  was  chair- 
man, being  represented,  the  Beard  of  Selectmen  of  Brookline,  and  the 
Brookline  Public  Library  and  School  Committee. 

Miss  Luchktia  Crocker,  a  member  of  the  Boston  Board  of  Sup- 
ervisors of  Public  Schools,  and  prominently  connected  with  educational 
matters  in  Boston  for  the  past  twelve  years,  died  last  month  at  the  age 
of  about  55  years.  Miss  Crocker  was  born  in  Barnstable,  and  was  the 
eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Hon.  Henry  Crocker,  at  one  time  sherifT  of 
Suffolk  county.  She  had  been  a  teacher  at  the  State  Normal  School  at 
West  Newton,  in  private  schools  at  Framingham  and  in  Boston,  and  at 
Antioch  College,  O.,  under  Horace  Mann.  She  and  five  other  ladies 
were  the  first  of  their  sex  lo  sit  on  the  Boston  School  Board.  She  was 
the  only  ^oman  to  be  chosen  a  member  of  the  Board  of  School  Super- 

Mr.  Ebenezer  C.  Blackmer,  the  oldest  Mason  in  Strafford  county, 
N.  H.,  died  in  October  aged  87.  He  had  been  a  Mason  fifty-seven 
years,  and  had  taken  thirty-two  degrees. 

Deacon  Thomas  Ghiggs,  the  oldest  resident  of  Brookline,  Mass., 
died  in  October  at  the  age  ot  98.  He  was  bom  in  the  town  in  which 
he  died  and  in  which  he  had  been  a  resident  all  his  life.  He  was 
captain  of  militia  when  the  war  of  1812  broke  out,  but  was  not  called 
into  active  service.  He  became  identified  with  the  Baptist  Church  in 
early  life,  in  which  he  acquired  his  title  of  Deacon.  He  had  held 
several  town  offices,  and  had  represented  the  town  in  the  Legislature. 

Mrs.  Nancy  Mead  Holland  died  suddenly  at  Walpole,  N.  H., 
aged  89  years.  She  was  the  widow  of  Ephraim  Holland,  a  pensioner 
of  the  war  of  iSi  2,  who  died  many  years  ago,  and  was  once  proprietress 


of  the  Pemberton  House,  Boston,  and  afterwards  of  the  old  Cheshire 
House  at  Keene,  N.  H.  She  used  to  drive  her  cows  to  pasture  on 
Boston  Common  in  the  olden  days. 

Col.  Charles  C.  Whittlesy^  the  distinguished  geologist  and 
scholar,  died  in  Cleveland,  O.,  last  month.  He  was  born  in  South- 
ington,  Conn.,  in  iSoS,  and  after  scning  in  the  legal  and  journalistic 
callings  turned  his  attention  to  engineering  pursuits,  and  was  em- 
ployed on  the  geological  surveys  of  Ohio  and  Wisconsin.  He  con- 
ducted the  mineralogical  surveys  of  Michigan,  Minnesota,  and  Wis- 

«  • 

James  Collins  died  at  Lawrence,  Mass.,  last  month,  at  the  reputed 
age  of  113  years.  He  was  a  native  of  County  Cork,  Ireland,  and  came 
to  this  country  when  93  years  old,  and  engaged  in  laboring  work  until 
1876,  when  he  took  to  choring  and  garden  work  until  last  year. 

*  * 

Austin  T.  Pike,  United  States  Senator  for  New  Hampshire,  dropped 
dead  on  his  farm  at  noonday,  near  Franklin  Falls,  N.  H.,  last  month. 
He  was  67  years  of  age.  Besides  holding  many  important  State  offices, 
he  was  a  member  of  Congress  from  1872  to  1874,  and  was  elected 
United  States  Senator  in  1SS3. 


Mrs.  Eunice  M.  Fiske,  widow  of  Emery  Fiske,  died  in  October  at 
Wellesley  Hills,  Mass.,  aged  87.  She  taught  school  in  her  early  days> 
in  Natick,  and  had  among  her  pupils  Judge  Bacon,  of  the  Massachusetts 
Superior  Court,  the  late  Judge  Morse,  and  Rev.  Daniel  Wight. 


*  « 

Mrs.  Francis  F.  Dwight,  of  Stockbridge,  Mass.,  died  last  month 
at  the  age  of  89  years.  She  was  a  woman  distinguished  for  those  fine 
qualities  which  marked  the  generation  she  had  survived.  Her  husband 
was  Col.  Henry  W.  Dwight,  who  represented  the  old  Berkshire  district 
in  Congress  for  ten  years,  from  182 1,  and  her  early  married  life  wa» 
passed  in  Washington.  She  possessed  a  queenly  bearing,  was  intel- 
lectual, hospitable,  charitable,  and  had  a  winning  personality. 


i,OCTOBEIi,   1886.) 

Art,  AacHiTECTunE.  Mussulman  Art,  D.  G.  /fnhbiirit.  jo.  —  Artietic  Hints 
in  Amateur  Photographj-.  Sylvester  Baxl-r.  7.  —  Send  back  the  Obcirsk. 
Cias.  Chailli  I^ong.    4. 

Biography,  Gknhalogv.  Joel  Bartow.  Erntsl  WkitHcy.  11. — John  WeUh, 
E.  S.  Nadal.  9.— A  ScottiBh  Mystic.  Miss  AffHes  Maule  Macliar.  3,—  A  mad 
Monarch  (Ludwig  11.)  £.  P.  Evani.  c— A  Litcrarj'  Athlete  (John  Wilson). 
Ed-aiard  F.  Hayviard.  11.  —  An  American  Queen  tMra.  Bannister).  Gail 
Hamilton.     4. 

Civfl.  War.  The  National  Home  for  Disabled  Volunteer  Soldiers.  Maria 
Barrtll  Butter.  2.— Corinth.  Gea.  W.  S.  Rosecrans.  1.— Stonewall  Jack- 
son's Last  Battle.  Capt.  yames  P.  Smith.  1.  — Personal  Reminiscences  of 
Stonewall  Jackson.      Margaret  J.  Preston,      i. 

Descriptios,  Travels,  Ad  vesture.  The  Story  of  Tanis.  Amelia  B. 
Edwards.  3. — <jlouce8ter  Fishers.  FrankliH  If.  North,  i. — A  Norwegian 
Poefs  Home.  H.  L.  Bra-kstad.  i.— American  Explorers  in  Abbos.  F.  H. 
Bacen.  i. — The  Biographers  of  Lincoln.  Clarence  King.  1. — Europe  on 
Nothing  Certain  a  Year.  Mary  Weatierbee.  i.— Around  the  World  on  a. 
Bicycle.  XIII.  Thomas  Stevens.  7.— The  Sunset  Land.  VIII  and  IX.  Caft. 
Edward  Keaneys,  Jr.     7.— The  Last  Voyage  of  the  Surprise.     VI.     7. 

EdITCatioK.  How  I  Was  Educated.  Pres't  %  R.  Ktndriek.  14.— The 
Necessity  for  Moral  and  Industrial  Training  in  the  Public  Schools.  George  R. 
Stetson.  3.— Hand-CraR  and  Rede-Craa.  Pres.  D.  C.  Gilman.  ».— Common 
Schools  Ahroad.  Matlhciu  Arnold.  1. — The  Rise  of  Arabian  Learning. 
Ed-ward  Hungcrford.     11. 

History.  The  Ursulinca  of  Quebec.  Charles  de  Kay.  i.— History  of 
American  Yachting.  Capt.  Roland  F.  Coffin.  7.— The  Rise  of  Arabian  Learn- 
ing.    Edward  Hnngerford.      11. 

LlTERATURB.  Americanisms  in  England.  Bishop  A.  C.  Coxe.  14. — The 
Oldest  German  Romance.  Prof.  E.  P.  Evani.  !O.^Sweetnesa  and  Light. 
At'eric  Slandisk  Franeii.  30. — Shakspere's  Julius  Caisar.  Ernest  Whitney. 
3t.— How  to  Choose  a  Library.  F.  N.  Zabriskie.  9.— The  Author  who 
Could  not  Help  it.  Geo.  P.  Lathrop.  o.  —  The  History  of  James.  Grant 
Allen.  9. —The  Spiritual  Element  in  Modern  Literature.  Hamilton  W. 
Mabie.     3.— A  Literary  Athlete  CJohn  Wilson).     Ed-ward F.  Hayward.      it. 

MiBCBLLANBOus.  The  Home  Acre.  Part  Vlll.  E.  P.  Roe.  I. —The 
Witches  of  Venice.      Elizabeth  Rabins  Fennell.      11. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affaire.  The  Heart  of  Speculation,  yohii  F. 
Hume.  14.  — The  KishcrieB  Dispute.  W.  C.  Ford.  14-— The  Tramp  and  the 
Law,  Samuel  I^avitt.  14. —  Are  Women  Fairly  Paid?  LUlie  Drvermx  Blalie 
Prof.  Van  Buren  Drnslo-a:  14.  — The  States  General  of  France.  Francis  W 
Kelsey.  21. — The  Future  of  Reform.  21. —  Friction  between  Labor  and  Cap- 
ital. George  May  Powell.  9.  —  United  State*  Naval  Artillery.  Rear-Admirat 
Ed-aard  Simpson,  U.  S.  A.  i.- Race  Prejudices.  N.  S.  Shaler.  it.—f 
trstion.  Prof.  Richard  T.  Ely.  4.  — Silver  and  Savings  Banks.  Willi 
Paine,  Z.Z..  2>.  4.  —  Labor  in  Pennsylvania.  Henry  George.  4.  —  Woman 
Suffrage.  Mrs.  Livermore.  4.  —  Prohibition.  Petroleum  V.  Nasty.  4.  - 
Blaine  on  the  Tariff.     Prof.   W-  G.  Samner.    4- 

Rbcreatios,  Sports.  College  Athletic  Sports.  Prof.  C.  A,  Touug.  14. — 
Experiences  of  a  Base -Ball  Umpire.  Joe.  y.  Ellick.  9. —  History  of  American 
Yachting.     Capt.  Roland  F.  Coffin.     7. 

Religion,  Morals.  Shall  Sunday  be  Preserved?  Prof.  Nraman  Smyth. 
14.  —  Religion  its  own  Evidence.     Rrv.  George  Batchelor.     10. — The  Eucharis- 



W.  H.  Mallock.     14.  — 

Rev.  S.  /?.  Calikrop, 

21. — The  Monist   and 

DeV,   Greeley.     21. — 

tic  Service.  Edward  Hungerford.  21. — Cremation  and  Christianity.  Allen 
G.  Bigclow.     4. 

Science,  Natural  History,  Discovery,  Ijtv'extions.     The  Keely  Motor. 
W.  II.  Babcock.     9. — Autumn    in    England.     Lucy   C.  Lillie.     2. — My  Real 
Estate.     Bradford  Torrey.     11. — Earthquake  Probabilities.     Richard  A.  Proc- 
tor.    4. 

Theology,  Polemics.     The  Convalescence  of  Faith. 
Confessions  of  a  Unitarian.     14.  —  Israel's  Last  Word. 
20. — The   Eucharistic   Service.     Edivard  Ilungcrford. 
the  Scotist  View-point  in  Relation  to    Satisfaction.     C. 

Theism  and  Evolution.  Prof.  W.  R.  Benedict.  3.  —  Buddhism's  Best  Gospel. 
Rex>.  jM.  L.  Gordon.  3.  —  liosea's  Testimony  to  the  Pentateuch.  Prof.  Wil" 
Ham  Henry  Greene. 

1  The  Century. 

2  Harder  5  ^fonthly. 

3  A  ftaorer  Re^'ieiv. 

4  North  American  Rer'tew. 
b  Popular  Science  Monthly. 
♦'»  Magazine  of  Am.  History. 

7  Outing. 

8  Education. 

9  Lippincott's  Magazine. 

10  Overland  Mont/ily. 

11  Atlantic  Monthly. 

12  New  England  Historical  and  Genealogical 


13  Rhode  Island  Historical  Magatine. 

14  The  Forum. 

16  New  Princeton  Rrvievj. 
10  The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 

17  The  Southern  Bix'ouac. 

18  The  Citizen. 

1 9  Political  Science  Quarterly. 

20  Unitarian  Revieto. 

21  New  Englander. 

22  Magazine  of  A  rt. 

23  Nc7v  England  Magazine. 

24  Nrw-ycrusalem  Magazine. 


T/ic  Cyclorama  of  the  Battles  of  \'icksburg^  located  on  55th 
Street  and  7th  Avenue,  New  York,  is  still  a  great  attraction  to  visiting^ 
strangers.  Those  who  never  participated  in  battle  can  form  a  better 
conception  ot  the  vicissitudes  and  horrors  of  war  by  one  glance  at  this 
great  picture  than  by  the  portrayal  by  book,  however  graphic. 

«  « 

The  earlier  portion  of  the  history  of  this  nation  is  made  up  so  largely 
of  the  history  of  Massachusetts*  that  we  are  apt  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  there  is  much  in  the  Commonwealth  which  does  not  appear  in 
a  national  history;  and  are  not  there  given  the  attention  as  to 
details  and  effect  that  would  be  very  useful  to  a  citizen  of  New  England. 
But  the  later  hislorv  is  scarcely  found  in  these  at  all.  It  is  believed 
that  the  present  volume  is  the  first  published  attempt  yet  made  to 
trace  the  history  of  the  vState  since  the  year  1S20.  The  period  inter- 
vening has  witnessed  the  growth  of  many  conflicting  opinions,  the 
rise  and  development  ot  new  parties,  the  sudden  outburst  of  passions 
which  had  long  been  dormant,  and  our  whole  part  in  the  war  of  the 
Slave-holders'  Rebellion.  Students  will  wish  that  the  dates  were  a  little 
more  readily  apparent ;  neither  is  there  desirable  fulness  in  respect  to 
occurrences  that  aflect  the  commercial,  industrial  and  social  interests 
of  the  people  rather  than  the  political ;  yet  this  addition  would  have 
swelled  the  volume  to  inconvenient  size.  The  paper  is  of  good  qual- 
ity and  the  type  is  large  and  clear. 

[*The  lli^rniy  of  MnttAnchusert:*,  fmm  the  T^ndinir  nf  the  Pilgrims  to  the  present 
By  Ueorge  Lowell  Austin ;  pp.  6W.    Ikistou ;  U.  B.  Russell.] 

New  England  Magazine 


Vol.  V.  No.  2.  December,   i8S6.  Whole  No.  26. 



With  the  recurrence  of  the  Christmas  hoHdays  comes  the 
customary  flood  of  illustrated  books  which,  for  the  time,  crowds 
out  everything  of  a  more  solid  and  thoughtful  character.  In  the 
preparation  of  these  innumerable  volumes  every  possible  branch 
of  art  is  represented,  from  the  costly  reproductions  of  drawings 
and  paintings  by  photogravure,  phototype  and  heliotype  to  the 
plainest  woodcuts;  the  former  representing  a  means  of  illustra- 
tion which  is  too  expensive  to  ever  become  popular,  and  the 
latter  the  method  which,  in  its  various  degrees  of  excellence,  will 
for  many  years  to  come  serve  as  the  most  available  means  of 
artistic  pictorial  expression. 

•No.  I.  InlhiiietiesiMspiiblishedin  VoLlV.,  No.  I.  of  The  New  Enclawd  MAGAiihB. 

OxiTTlf  U,  1M«,  Iv  ArUuir  P.  Sndf^    AU  rlfkU  HMmd. 


■ji^av-ing  has  reached  what  may  be  conSt 

U  is  difficult  to  understand  how  it  can  be 

■  ■:  may  be  made  to  produce  better  results 

■V  of  such  engravers  as  Linton,  Closson, 

•\     .;.  KrucU,  Johnson,  Cole  and  others.     It 

-  :■  ..-  of  producing  almost  every  possible  effect, 

v.- ■-:.-..>  .iilvantage,  it  will   be   difficult   Co   supplant 

.*  *V  ^  v^lher  method  which,  however  admirable  in  its  way, 
■  .  tv<won  of  mechanical  processes,  to  work  along   a 


I  u  viic,  uomc  of  the  best  and  most  effective  work  yet 

^**  (t^».  C^Hinlry  has  been  done  by  Boston  houses,  for  ex- 

^^^inj  j|l  jVti"  edition  of  "  Lalla  Rookh,"  issued  a  year  or  two 

*  W   tiwTs  Return,"  just  published;    "Heroines  of  the 

^  ^Kh  «»d  pastorals,"  and  "  Youth  in  Twelve  Centuries," 

\  Mvwl  U)  some  admirabie  work  in  this  line  done  in  New 



York  and  Philadelphia,  but  the  references  made  will  be  sufficient 
to  illustrate  what  we  have  been  saying.  The  photogravure  is  cap- 
able of  exquisite  softness  and  of  an  infinite  variety  of  tones  and 
tints,  but  the  process  has  not  been  sufficiently  developed  to  pro- 
duce a  strong  and  vigorous  picture  with  clearness  in  the  shadows. 
In  fact,  none  of  the  methods  in  which  photography  bears  a  part 
can  be  absolutely  depended  on  to  secure  exact  results.  The  diffi- 
culties are  not  insurmountable,  however,  and  the  ma 
workers  who    are    continually   expcrimentini;   to    ovcrc 

special  obstacles,  must  sooner  or  later,  by  direct  attempt  or  ac- 
cident, discover  the  secret  and  place  the  art  on  an  absolutely 
certain  foundation. 

Another  line  of  reproductive  art,  closely  allied  to  photogravure, 
is  the  phototype,  which  gives  excellent  effects  in  black  and  white, 
and  which  has  been  used  in  the  illustration  of  a  number  of  expen- 
sive art  books. 

The  capacities  of  the  heliotype  and  Albert-type  have  been  long 
known,  and  they  undoubtedly  have  a  wider  practical  value  than 
cither  the  photogravure  or  phototype.  There  is,  however,  a  flat- 
ness and  poverty  of  tone  about  both  that  prevents  their  extensive 



use  in  fine  art  illustration.  For  reproductions  for  business  pur- 
poses, architectural  views,  and  ordinary  book  illustration  they 
serve  an  excellent  purpose. 

But  to  come  back  to  wood  engraving.  To  compare  the  work  of 
the  present  year  with  that  of  the  last  in  the  same  line,  we  select 
half  a  dozen  volumes  which  have  been  issued  by  our  local  pub- 



lishers.  Reference  has  already  been  made  to  the"  Earl's  Return," 
That  volume  is  illustrated  both  by  photogravures  and  wood  en- 
gravings. Turning  over  its  pages  we  find  a  number  of  plates 
which  are  charming  in  drawing  and  general  character,  and  which 
are  remarkable  for  the  truth  and  accuracy  with  which  the  en- 
graver has  preserved  the  feeling  and  characteristics  of  the 
artist.  Here,  for  instance,  is  one  illustrating  the  lini 

"  Sometimes  she  sat  'twixt  the  mildewy  beds 
Of  the  sea-singed  flowers  in  the  pleasaunce  garden," — 


a  bit  as  fine,  in  its  way,  as  anything  we  have  seen  in  any  gift-book 
for  the  year.      Equally  good  in  execution,  but    less  interesting 

bjcct    is  the  moonlight    view,    where    the    landscape 

"  Steeped  pale  in  the  light 
Of  the  stars,  when  the  bells  and  the  clocks 
Had  ceased  in  Uie  tower." 

Tom  Hood's  sweet  little  lyric,  "  Fair  Inez,"  contains  a  dozen  or 


niori;    charminy    pictures,    two    of    which   wc    reproduce. 

are    fairly  representative    of    the    illustrations    as    a    whole,    and 

while    the  engraver  stands    between    the    reader    and  the    artist, 
one  can   feel   the   individuality  of    the  latter  behind  the  work. 


.  accompanies  the  closing  stanza  nT  the  poem- 

■'  Farewell,  farewell,  fair  Inez  \ 

Thai  vessel  never  bore 

So  fair  a  lady  on  ils  deck, 

Nor  danced  so  tight  before,—  " 

is  especially  good,  snd  is  another  instance  where  the  engraver  has 
(lone  hi)i  work  in  sympathy  with  the  artist. 

We  give  two  wood-cuts  from  Joseph  Pcnneil's  new  book.  '-Two 
Pilgrims"  Progress,"  which  show  a  totally  diflTercnt  and  yet  verj- 
effective  method  of  illustration.  They  are  evidence  of  how  much 
can  be  done  with  a  few  tines.  They  suggest  much  more  than 
many  elaborate  pictures,  and  it  requires  really  as  much  artistic 
knowledge  and  skill  to  do  what  a  crilie  would  consider  acceptable 

A  series  of  full-page  engravings  in  a  holiday  edition  of 
Wordsworth's  "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality,"  affords 
bome  excellent  examples  of  the  wood  engraver's  art,  and  one  may 
turn  over  in  the  investigation  of  this  subject  scores  of  volumes  on 
any  bookseller's  counter  and  draw  his  own  conclusions  as  to  the 
advance  made  in  book  illustration  during  the  past  twelve  months, 
if  there  has  really  been  such  advance. 

We  have  been  speaking  particularly  of  methods.  But  there  is 
something  more  to  be  considered  than  the  mere  mechanical  way 

I  of  doing  things.     We  have  an  already  large  and  constantly  increas- 

H  ing  school  of  young  American  draughtsmen,  many  of  whom  have 

B  studied  abroad,  and  have  brought  home  with  them  some  of  that 

I  inventive  quickness  and  skill  in  the  art  of  drawing  that  have  made 

H  the  French  and  Germans  masters  in  that  branch  of  art.     They  not 

I  only  draw  well,  but  they  have  learned  the  importance  of  proper 

I  grouping,  of  contrast,  and  of  composition,  while  the  engraver  has 

H  learned  that  his  work  requires  him  to  be  as  much  of  an  artist  as 

■  the  draughtsman  himself.     The  designer  no  longer  occupies  an  in- 

H  feiior  position.     In  his  department  he  holds  as  important  a  place 



as  docs  the  painter  in  his  especial  domain.  He  is  as  much  of  a 
creator;  and  the  fact  that  he  often  draws  his  inspiration  from  the 
works  he  is  called  upon  to  illustrate  does  not  cause  him  to  rank 
any  lower  than  the  artist  who  evolves  his  pictures  from  his  own 
P  imagination  or  is  inspired  by  the  living  subject. 


BY   JAMES   G.    CLARK- 

O  love  that  all  my  being  warms ! 
O  love  that  shields  my  life  from  storms ! 
O  love  that  every  impulse  wills, 
And  everj'  flitting  fancy  fills  ! 

0  love  tliat  shines  through  all  my  dreams 
Like  starlight  through  the  summer  strearr.s 
That  thrills  with  melody  my  days. 

And  rounds  all  discord  into  praise  ! — 

1  lean  my  face  upon  thy  breast 
As  bends  the  noon-ray  to  the  west, 
And  calmly,  in  my  open  boat, 

I  floating  sing  and  singing  float. 
I  wait  no  more  by  wayside  lakes. 
To  dally  with  the  reeds  and  brakes; 
Behind  me  fade  the  mountain  snows. 
And  in  my  face  the  June  wind  blows, 
While  strong  and  wide  the  cunents  sweep 
Toward  the  ever-calling  deep. 

0  love  that  rocks  me  in  its  arms. 
And  makes  me  brave  amidst  alarms  ! 

1  know  not  where  thy  stream  mav  lead, 
Through  rocky  pass  or  flowerj'  mead, 

I  only  feel  that  I  am  blest ; 
I  only  know  I  am  at  rest. 

THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  1862. 

THE    CIVIL    WAR    IN     186a. 

By  general  HENRY  B.  CARRINGTON,  LL.  D.« 

The  year  1861  closed  with  enormous  preparations  on  the  part  of 
the  North  to  operate  the  succeeding  campaign  upon  each  of  the 
three  great  military  zones.     The  country  beyond  the  Mississippi  . 
river  constituted  the  right  zone,  while  that  east  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
mountains,  as  far  south  as  the  Savannah  river,  marked  the  It-ftzone.    . 
The  centre  zone  was  between    these,  but  bounded  at  its  lower 
left  by  the  Savannah  river  and  the  Atlantic  ocean,  with  the  Gulf  ^  1 
of  Mexico  as  its  southern  limit.     This  zone  contained  a  semi- 
neutral  region,  not  quadrangular  in  form,  but  so  disposed  that   -■ 
upon  three  faces  there  were  offensive  elements  which  suppressed 
local  union  sentiment,  prevented  its  concentration,  and  developed 
a  guerilla  warfare  wholly  repugnant  to  the  methods  of  civilized 
war.     The  Kanawha  river  on  the  east  and  the  Tennessee  river  on 
the  south  and  west  bounded  this  tract,  while  the  railroad  from 
Richmond,  Va.,  to  Memphis,  via  Lynchburg,  Cleveland,  Chatta- 
nooga, Decatur  and  Corinth,  and  running  behind  the  Cumberland 
mountains,    represented   an    interior  line  of  quick  transit  which 
greatly  aided  Confederate  movements.     Divisions  of  troops  alter- 
nately fought  near  Richmond,  and  at  the  west,  while  the  ultimate 
transfer  of  the  Federal  Qlh  and  nth  corps  from  the  Potomac  to 
Tennessee,  involved  a  long  detour,  via  Columbus,  Ohio,  and  In-    , 
dianapolis,  Indiana. 

The  campaign  of  1862  opened. 

The  nation  was  earnest  in  recruiting  regiments,  manufacturing 
arms,  and  forcing  all  resources  and  activities  into  service.  Botli 
army  and  navy  had  been  created  almost  from  nothing,  each  eager 
for  the  conflict.  The  fear  of  foreign  intervention  called  out  by  . 
the  Trent  affair  had  subsided,  and  the  chief  actors  in  the  gre^t 
drama  were  giving  the  last  touches  to  preparations  and  armaments^ 
which  were  to  be  hurled  against  the  Confederacy,     Fleets  had  < 

•Author  of  "BBttlH  of  the 

THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  1862.  107 

taken  the  lead,  and  the  blockade  of  southern  harbors  was  becom- 
ing practical  and  stringent. 

Up  to  the  middle  of  January  nothing  of  importance  had  taken 
place.  Skirmishing,  reconnoitering  and  foraging  were  the  order 
of  the  day,  until  January  I2th,  when  the  campaign  was  opened 
by  the  start  of  General  Burnside.  with  four  brigades,  numerous 
transports  and  gun-boats,  from  Fortress  Monroe,  with  sealed 

The  West  took  up  its  march.  Concentration  of  troops  had 
taken  place  in  Missouri,  in  Illinois,  near  Cairo,  and  in  northern 
Kentucky,  on  the  Louisville  and  Nashville  railroad. 

Iron-clad  gun-boats  had  been  built  and  placed  on  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi  rivers. 

On  the  19th  of  January  the  first  clang  of  arms  resounded  from 
Kentucky,  and  the  first  Federal  victory  was  gained  by  General 
Lorenzo  H.  Thomas,  over  General  Zollikofier,  at  Mill  Springs,  Ky 
1  he  navy  responded  by  a  brilliant  exploit  on  the  Tennessee  river, 
where  Admiral  Foote.  February  6th,  captured  Fort  Henry. 

In  Missouri.  General  Curtis  advanced  to  Springfield,  against 
Price.  General  Grant  moved  toward  Fort  Donalson,  along  the 
peninsula  formed  by  the  Cumberland  and  Tennessee  rivers.  Gen- 
eral Buel  crowded  the  Confederates  back  upon  Bouling  Green, 
Ky.,  while  smaller  corps  took  the  direction  of  Cumberland  Gap. 
The  whole  west,  for  600  miles,  was  alive,  and  felt  the  onward 
spur,  Fort  Donalson,  on  the  Cumberland,  below  Dover,  fell 
February  15th.  aftera  severe  fight,  yielding  nearly  15,000  prison- 
ers, as  well  as  great  material  of  war.  Pressed  in  front  at  Bowling 
Green,  outflanked  b/  the  gun-boats  and  General  Grant's  army, 
the  Confederate  troops  in  Kentucky  found  their  communications 
endangered,  and  General  Duel's  army  occupied  Nashville. 

Crowded  by  General  Grant,  Columbus,  one  of  the  strongest  bar- 
riers to  the  passage  of  the  Mississippi,  was  evacuated,  and  New 
Madrid  and  Island  No.  10  fell,  aft::r  such  marvels  of  engineering 
as  few  wars  have  developed.  The  upper  Mississippi  was  re-opened 
to  northern  navigation. 

In  Missouri,  again,  important  events  rapidly  took  place,  until 
Price  retreated  to  Arkansas,  and  Springfield  was  occupied  by 
Federal  troops,  But  Price,  rc-inforced  by  Arkansas  and  Texas 
auxiliaries  and  nearly  six  thousand  Indians,  making  about  thirty 

THE  CIVIL   WAR  IX  1S62.  109 

thousand  men,  all  under  Van  Dorn,  advanced  from  Fayctteviile 
against  General  Curtis,  who  concentrated  his  army  at  Fca  Ridge, 

The  confederates  left  iJie  main  road,  gained  the  same  latitude 
with  the  Federal  army,  turned  their  position,  and  forced  them  to 
fnce  north-east,  in  the  engagement  that  ensued.  On  the  8th  of 
March  the  battle  was  fought,  and  by  a  skillful  flank  movement 
of  General  Siegel,  the  Confederates  were  dislodged  and  forced  to 

General  Grant  had  already  moved  his  army  to  the  left  bank  of 
the  Tennessee  and  encamped  near  Shiloh,  at  Pittsburg  Landing, 
The  divisions  of  Sherman,  Ilurlburt,  McClerland.  Prentiss.  Smith 
and  Lew  Wallace,  were  combined.  Beauregard,  joined  by  the 
troops  coming  from  Columbus,  under  General  Folk,  and  by  a 
corps  from  Mobile  under  General  Bragg,  took  position  near 
Corinth  and  concluded  an  arrangement  with  General  Johnson  at 
Murfreesborough,  by  which  they  expected  to  unite  all  their  forces 
and  defeat  General  Grant  before  he  could  be  supported  by  Gen- 
eral Buel,  from  Nashville. 

This  well  digested  plan  was  put  in  execution  by  means  of  the 
Charleston  and  Memphis  railroad.  Bad  weather  and  unexpected 
incidents,  so  peculiar  in  war,  postponed  the  attack  for  nearly  three 
days,  and  by  that  time  General  Buel  was  en  route  from  Nashville, 
to  support  General  Grant, 

On  the  6th  of  April  the  battle  was  fought.  The  Union  army- 
was  partly  taken  by  surprise;  but  rallied,  with  a  firm  resistance 
which  lasted  until  it  was  obliged  to  take  shelter  undercover  of  the 
gun-boats.  Buel  arrived  at  night,  took  active  part  in  the  battle  of 
the  7th,  when  the  rebels  fell  back,  with  a  loss  of  nearly  10,000, 
but  holding  many  prisoners ;  and  the  exhausted  Federal  army  did 
not  improve  their  victory  by  pursuit.  Beauregard  fortified  Corinth. 
Halleck  assumed  command  of  the  Federal  army,  and  on  the  30ih 
if  May,  after  preparations  for  an  advance  were  perfected,  it  was 
found  that  llie  enemy  had  retreated  and  left  iheir  entrenchments 
for  occupation  by  their  enemy.  Then  followed  the  occupation  of 
Corinth,  Memphis,  and  all  the  country  between  the  Tennessee  and 
Mississippi  rivers. 

On  the  latter  river  naval  engagements  became  frequent,  and  on 
the  29th  of  April,  Admiral  Foote  commenced  the  bombardment  of 
Fort  Jackson  and  St.  Philip,  below  New  Orleans,  and  forced  that 

no  THE  CIVIL   WAR  IN  1862, 

city  to  surrender  on  the  28th.  Vicksburgh  was  unsuccessfully  at- 
tacked by  the  Federal  fleet  and  the  siege  was  raised  July  25th. 
Then  followed  Bragg's  invasion  of  Kentucky, — ^which  promised, 
for  a  while,  to  open  up  the  whole  northern  border  to  inroad  and 
disaster,  but  resulted  in  his  retreat  from  the  State. 

In  the  left  zone,  the  opening  of  the  campaign  was  hardly  less 
satisfactory.  General  Burnside,  who  left  Fortress  Monroe  January 
1 2th,  attacked  Roanoke  Island,  February  8th,  and  took  many 
prisoners.  On  the  20th,  Minton,  on  the  Chowan  river,  was  taken  ; 
on  the  2 1st,  Washington,  on  Pamlico  river;  and  on  the  23d, 
Morchcad  was  entered  by  General  Parks. 

Not  less  fruitful  of  success  were  the  operations  in  the  more 
southern  theatre  of  war,  at  the  outset  of  the  campaign.  The  force 
at  Port  Royal,  S.  C,  bombarded  and  reduced  Fort  Pulaski  on  the 
iith  of  April.  Jacksonville  and  Pensacola,  Florida,  were  also 
occupied.  An  attack  upon  Charleston,  June  19th,  failed,  and  after 
a  repulse  on  James  Island,  a  portion  of  the  troops  returned  to 
Fortress  Monroe. 

While  the  armies  of  the  west,  centre  and  south  were  thus  enliv- 
ened and  vigorous,  the  Anuy  of  the  Potomac  was  not  idle. 

On  the  7th  of  February,  Romney,  West  Virginia,  was  entered 
by  Lander,  and  on  the  24th,  operations  began  in  the  Shenandoah 
Valley.  Harper's  Ferry  was  occupied  as  well  as  Charleston,  Mar- 
tinsburg,  and  Bunker  Hill.  On  the  8th  of  March,  Gearey  moved 
to  Leesburg,  and  on  the  12th  General  Banks  entered  Winchester 
and  Berryville.  At  Winchester  the  Confederates  under  Jackson 
were  repulsed  and  the  Federal  troops  entered  Sharpsburg,  March 
23d,  and  Woodstock,  on  the  1st  of  April, 

On  the  17th  of  March  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  embarked  for 
Fortress  Monroe. 

At  this  juncture  occurred  one  of  the  most  startling  episodes  of 
the  war,  and  one  which  revolutionized  maritime  methods  of  con* 
flict  throughout  the  world.  On  the  8th  of  March  the  Merrimac 
steamed  from  Norfolk,  cut  into  the  frigate  Cumberland  and  burned 
the  Congress.  In  the  evening,  the  modest  little  Monitor  arrived 
from  the  north,  boldly  asserted  her  new  and  untried  pretensions, 
and  the  next  morning,  the  Merrimac,  baffled  and  beaten,  inglori-* 
ously  returned  to  the  harbor  from  which  her  departure  had  been 
so  auspicious  and  promising. 

THE  CIVIL    WAR  IN  1S62.  \  1 1 

In  the  midst  of  thcRe  exciting  scenes,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
nearly  one  hundred  thousand  strong,  began  to  arrive  at  Fortress 
Monroe,  occupying  from  March  1 7th  to  April  1  si  in  the  movement. 
On  the  5th  of  April  the  advance  toward  Yorktown  began. 
Swampy  ground  in  front,  the  blockade  of  the  James  river  by  the 
Mcrrimac.  and  other  causes,  induced  preparations  for  a  regular 

Meanwhile,  Fremont  was  in  the  mountains  west  of  the  Shenan- 
doah. Banks  was  in  the  Valley  and  McDowell  in  the  country  east 
j^r  the  Blue  Ridge,  On  the  19th  of  April  Fredericksburg  was 
occupied  by  the  latter. 

The  siege  of  Yorktown  advanced.  All  was  ready  for  the  final 
blow,  when,  on  the  4th  of  May,  it  was  learned  that  the  Confeder- 
ates had  abandoned  their  works,  repeating  the  strategic  movement 
which  Beauregard  executed  at  Corinth.  May  i6th  the  army 
reached  the  Chickahominy,  and  on  the  31st  and  June  1st  was 
fought  the  Battle  ofFair  Oaks,  A  terrific  thunder  storm  raged  on 
the  30th.  The  rising  of  the  Chickahominy  was  expected  by  the 
Confederates.  The  four  Federal  divisions  of  the  left  wing  were 
on  the  lower  side,  and  the  attack  began  on  this  part  of  their  lines. 
At  the  same  time,  a  Confederate  column  moved  to  seize  Bottom 
Bridge,  thus  to  force  the  four  Federal  divisions  into  White  Oak 
Swamp,  where  their  destruction  would  have  been  certain.  This 
flanking  column  had  nearly  reached  its  destination  when  it  was  it- 
self attacked  in  flank,  by  General  Sumner,  whose  corps  debouched 
over  a  bridge  of  their  own  construction  before  the  creek  had  risen 
to  its  maximum  height.  The  Confederates  were  in  turn  disap- 
pointed. General  Johnson  was  severely  wounded  in  striving  to 
retrieve  the  day,  and  night  stopped  the  fight.  Nearly  eight  thous- 
and were  killed  or  wounded  on  each  side.  The  creek  rose  rapidly, 
carrying  away  even  General  Sumner's  bridge,  and  but  for  the 
timely  close  of  the  first  day's  action,  the  Federal  army  would 
have  been  in  imminent  peril.  Until  the  14th  the  time  was  spent  in 
building  bridges  and  establishing  communications  between  the 
right  and  left  wings  of  the  army.  On  the  14th  a  cavalry  raid  in 
the  rear  of  the  Federal  lines  gave  such  a  start  to  the  army  as  ulti- 
mately to  induce  a  change  of  base  to  James  river.  The  Confeder- 
ates, however,  crossed  at  Mcchanicsville  and  Meadow  Bridge,  and 
advanced  upon  the  right  wing  commanded  by  General  Fitz-John 

112  THE  Civil.   WAR  IN  1862. 

Porter.  The  line  was  formed  in  front  of  Gaines'  Mills,  and  the 
army  received  orders  to  pass  the  bridge  on  the  evening  of  the 
27th,  in  order  to  execute  a  grand  movement  through  White  Oak 
Swamp,  toward  James  river.  During  that  evening  the  Confeder- 
ates pushed  forward  with  the  utmost  determination.  The  divisions 
of  Slocum  and  Richardson  were  sent  to  the  support  of  the  right 
wing.  The  fight  became  so  intense  that  all  the  reserves  of  that 
wing  were  successfully  engaged  ;  but  the  Confederates,  having  the 
last  reserve  to  bring  into  action,  carried  the  day.  The  left  wing, 
formed  of  General  McCall's  troops  was  entirely  broken,  and  the 
disorder  reached  even  to  the  center.  Happily,  night  came,  and 
with  it  the  fresh  commands  of  Meagher  and  French,  so  that  further 
pursuit  was  stopped.  Another  critical  issue  was  over.  That  night 
the  whole  of  the  right  wing  crossed  the  Chickahominy.  Their 
bridges  were  at  once  destroyed,  and  on  the  28th  the  entire  Federal 
army  was  on  the  right  of  the  creek.  This  same  creek,  which  on 
June  1st,  had  nearly  caused  the  ruin  of  the  army  now  became  its 
salvation.  On  the  27th  an  attack  had  been  made  upon  the  left 
wing  to  prevent  its  reinforcement  of  the  right  wing. 

On  the  29th  the  Confederates  made  their  unsuccessful  attacks,  and 
on  the  30th  the  Federal  army  retreated,  passed  through  White 
Oak  Swamp,  and  the  advance  guard,  under  Generals  Keys  and 
Porter,  reached  James  river.  The  final  attack  was  made  against 
the  whole  Union  army,  united  on  Malvern  Hill,  and  covered  by 
three  hundred  pieces  of  artillery;  but  the  Confederates  were 
repulsed,  and  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  emerged  from  the  swamps, 
to  find  itself  at  Harrison's  Landing,  having  water  communication 
with  its  distant  base. 

Sickness  and  the  sword  had  done  their  work.  The  Confeder- 
ates had  taken  the  oficnsivc.  A  Cc.Il  for  three  hundred  thousand 
volunteers  went  out  from  the  nation's  capital  and  then  a  call  for 
three  hundred  thousand  drafted  men.  Stevens  was  recalled  from 
Port  Royal  and  Burnside  was  withdrawn  from  North  Carolina. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  opening  campaign  had  given  place  to 
the  stern  exactions  of  necessity  in  view  of  contingent  disasters. 

On  the  1 2th  of  August,  the  Army  of  the  Potomac,  not  strong 
enough  to  take  the  oficnsivc,  began  its  retreat  by  crossing  the 
Chickahominy  near  its  mouth.  Hardly  had  its  return  been  accom- 
plished, when,  in  front  of  VVa.shington,  it  encountered  the  same 

THE  CIVIL    WAR  IN  1S62.  113 

divisions  which  it  left  in  front  of  Richmond,  On  the  29th  the 
Confederate  army,  between  Centreville  and  Haymarket,  was 
attacked  by  the  entire  Union  army,  under  General  Pope;  but 
without  result.  On  the  30th,  the  Confederates,  reinforced  by  the 
residue  of  General  Lee's  army,  renewed  the  fight,  and  at  noon  the 
left  wing  cf  the  Federal  army,  under  Porter  and  McDowell,  broke. 
and  the  whole  army  fell  back  beyond  Bull  Run.  The  loss  in 
killed,  wounded,  missing,  and  guns,  was  heavy. 

On  the  1st  of  September  the  Confederates  turned  General 
Pope's  (lank  again,  and  pushed  a  column  as  far  as  Fairfax  Court 
House.  Generals  Reno  and  Kearney  were  ordered  to  drive  these 
out,  and  here,  at  the  moment  of  success,  General  Kearney  lost  his 

Pope  made  good  his  retreat  and  took  shelter  under  the  guns  of 
Washington.  Burnside  evacuated  Fredericksburg  and  joined  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac, 

Such,  briefly,  was  the  memorable  campaign  in  Virginia,  com- 
menced by  the  Confederates  on  the  defensive  and  ending  in  a 
brilliant  offensive,  throwing  the  Federal  forces  back  in  disorder 
upon  their  original  base. 

But  not  alone  in  Virginia  had  the  Confederates  taken  the  offen- 
sive. Through  the  whole  theatre  of  war  their  armies  moved, — 
everywhere  to  attack. 

We  left  the  western  armies  after  the  evacuation  of  Corinth  and 
the  surrender  of  New  Orleans.  On  the  19th  of  July,  General  Hal- 
leek  was  summoned  from  the  West  to  take  command  in  chief  of 
all  the  United  States  forces.  The  mamcnt  was  critical,  and  the 
President  decided  that  the  selection  of  some  one  to  be  responsible 
for  combined  operations  in  the  three  zones  of  operation  was  vital 
to  success.  There  was  no  magic  in  the  assignment  sufficient  to 
stem  the  persistent  pressure  from  the  eager  Confederacy.  On  the 
26lh  of  August  General  Kirby  Smith  entered  Kentucky,  On  the 
29th  General  Nelson  was  utterly  routed  near  Richmond.  Kentucky. 
Indiana  regiments  which  had  been  mustered  and  armed  the  week 
previous  by  the  writer  of  this  sketch  went  into  that  battle  with 
unflinching  nerve,  only  to  be  enrolled  at  its  close  as  prisoners  of 
war.  Covington,  Cincinnati  and  Louisville  were  threatened. 
General  Bragg  moved  to  Sparta,  Tennessee,  threatening  Bucl's 
communications  with   Nashville,   attacked  Mumfordville,  and  on 

114  THE  CIVIL   WAR  IN  1862. 

the  19th  of  September  captured  its  garrison  of  nearly  four  thou- 
sand men,  commanded  by  Colonel  Wilder. 

At  luka  General  Price  had  a  sharp  conflict  with  General  Rose- 
crans,  and  Rains,  with  Hindman,  left  Arkansas  to  invade  Missouri. 

General  Buel  was  forced  to  return  to  Louisville  to  rescue  his 
base  and  save  the  States  north  of  the  Ohio  river  from  actual  invasion, 
and,  after  a  hot  race  with  Bragg,  crossed  Salt  river  and  entered 
Louisville  September  24.  Already  the  United  States  army  stores 
had  been  ferried  to  the  Indiana  shore,  and  heavy  guns  were 
planted  to  command  the  river,  then  at  low  water.  Breckenridge 
invested  Nashville.  On  the  17th  of  September  General  Morgan 
(Federal)  evacuated  Cumberland  Gap.  On  the  8th  of  October 
General  McCook  was  defeated  at  Perryville.  On  the  i8th,  General 
Morgan  (Confederate)  entered  Lexington  in  the  rear  of  Bucl's 
army,  marched  to  Versailles,  Laurenceburg  and  Bardstown,  cap- 
tured several  works,  made  the  entire  circuit  of  the  Federal  army, 
and  left  Kentucky,  October  29th,  with  comparatively  small  loss. 

At  the  close  of  the  month.  General  Buel  was  relieved  by  General 
Rosecrans;  but  the  Confederates,  under  General  Bragg,  escaped 
through  Cumberland  Gap  and  took  position  at  Murfreesborough. 
The  Army  of  the  Ohio,  giving  up  pursuit,  marched  to  Nashville, 
where  it  began  to  arrive  on  the  8th  of  November,  General  Rose- 
crans reaching  that  city  on  the  13th. 

At  the  East,  active  movements  on  the  part  of  the  Confederate 
forces  were  hardly  less  significant.  Harper's  Ferry  was  surren^ 
dered,  September  15th,  with  twelve  thousand  men,  and  General 
Jackson  had  hardly  paroled  the  captives  when  he  was  summoned 
to  join  General  Lee,  who  was  then  at  Sharpsburg,  on  Antietam 
Creek,  awaiting  opportunity  to  give  battle. 

On  the  1 6th,  General  McClellan*s  army  arrived  near  the  creek 
and  confronted  the  Confederates.  General  Hooker,  with  his  own 
corps,  crossed  the  creek  during  the  afternoon  and  had  a  preliminary 
engagement,  but  on  the  1 7th  the  whole  army  advanced  to  attack. 

Hooker,  Sumner,  and  Franklin,  with  their  respective  corps,  suc- 
cessively attacked  the  left  wing  of  the  Confederates,  which,  how- 
ever, held  firm  after  first  losing  some  ground.  Their  right  wing 
was  assailed  by  Burnside,  but  he  in  turn  was  thrown  back  to  the 
bridge  over  which  he  at  first  debouched.  Night  closed  in,  and  no 
decisive  result  had  been  gained  on  eithrr  side. 

THE  CIVIL    WAR  IN  1862.  115 

On  the  iSth  the  armies  were  in  line,  vis  &  vis,  each  so  worn-out 
by  marching  and  the  previous  day  of  conflict,  that,  as  if  by  some 
tacit  courtesy,  or  sympathy,  even  picket  firing  ceased  between  the 
lines.  During  the  day  the  Federal  troops  were  re-inforced,  but 
during  the  night  the  Confederates  withdrew  in  good  order  and 
great  silence,  across  the  Potomac,  Again,  as  before  at  Corinth 
and  Yorktown,  the  weaker  force  was  saved  by  the  good  strategy 
of  its  commander.  An  attempt  to  follow  the  Confederates  on  the 
20th,  and  to  cross  directly  in  iheir  front,  failed,  a  part  of  the  troops 
which  actually  crossed  being  repulsed  with  loss. 

On  the  8th  of  October,  Burnside  relieved  McClellan. 

On  the  I2lh  of  November  the  Federal  army  forced  a  passage 
of  the  Rappahannock.  On  the  1 3th  it  was  defeated  on  the  heights, 
with  a  loss  of  twelve  thousand  men,  and  compelled  to  recross  the 
river,  the  Confederates  advancing  in  column,  by  divisions,  with 
crushing  force. 

In  North  Carolina,  General  Foster  took  Kingston,  and  Genera! 
Banks  succeeded  General  Butler  at  New  Orleans. 

We  left  General  Grant  in  Mississippi,  taking  the  offensive.  On 
the  3d  of  December  he  advanced  toward  Holly  Springs,  where  a 
vigorous  action  took  place;  but  the  Confederates  changed  their 
course  and  secured  their  retreat. 

General  Sherman  attacked  Vicksburg,  suffered  great  loss,  and 
was  compelled  to  the  siege.  In  Tennessee  we  left  the  Army 
of  the  Ohio  at  Nashville,  under  command  of  General  Rosecrans. 
The  Confederates  had  concentrated  at  Murfreesbo rough  under 
General  Bragg.  On  the  6th  of  December  a  Federal  brigade  was 
attacked  and  forced  to  surrender.  General  Rosecrans  at  once 
advanced  with  nearly  fifty  thousand  men.  An  engagement  en- 
sued, lasting  several  daj's.  At  first  the  Federal  army  received  a 
check,  the  "Battle  in  the  Cedars"  of  the  first  day  being  fought  so 
nearly  in  the  rear  of  the  Federal  right  that  Rousseau's  batteries 
-were  worked  with  Murfreesborough  at  their  rear.  On  the  3d  of 
January,  at  night,  the  Confederates  evacuated  Murfreesborough 
and  retreated  in  good  order,  not  seriously  molested,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Tullahoma.  'I/ius,  for  the  Jonrlli  time,  during  1862,  a 
Confederate  army  eluded  its  adversary,  when  a  desperate  issue 
was  at  its  crisis. 

On  the  8th  of  December  a  battle  was  fought  in  the  right  zone  of 

ii6  THE  CIVIL  WAR  IN  1862, 

operations  between  General  Hindman  (Confederate)  and  Gener- 
als Blunt  and  Herron,  in  which  the  Confederates  were  defeated. 
Surely  the  year  was  eventful  in  its  contrasts;  and  in  view  of  the 
large  geographical  area  through  which  hostile  operations  were 
carried  on,  we  are  astonished  at  the  activity  of  such  large  armies 
and  the  changing  relations  which  they  sustained  to  each  other. 

A  brief  review  from  the  starting  point  is  suggestive.  Curtis  and 
Pope  in  Missouri,  Grant  and  Buel  in  Kentucky,  Banks  at  Win- 
chester, the  Army  of  the  Potomac  at  Washington,  Burnside  at 
Roanoke,  Hunter  at  Port  Royal,  Butler  planning  his  expedi- 
tion against  New  Orleans,  represent  not  less  than  ten  armies, 
and  as  many  lines  of  operation,  acting  on  a  more  or  less  concen- 
tric direction  toward  the  interior  of  the  grand  theatre  of  war.  No 
one  of  their  armies  was  so  strong  that  the  Confederates  could  not 
have  concentrated  a  stronger  against  it. 

The  plan  of  campaign  for  the  right  zone,  framed  separately,  so 
far  as  judged  by  actual  operations,  was  very  simple.  General 
Curtis  was  to  clear  Missouri  and  penetrate  Arkansas.  General  Pope 
was  to  move  down  the  Mississippi  and  open  the  river  to  the  gun- 
boats,— which,  by  ascending  the  rivers  of  Arkansas  would  divide 
that  State  into  parts,  cut  communications  between  different  Con- 
federate corps,  and  facilitate  the  operations  of  General  Curtis  by 
furnishing  him  protection  and  supplies.  General  Curtis  and  Gen- 
eral Pope  each  had  an  army  sufficient  to  fight,  single-handed, 
any  four  which  the  Confedeiates  of  that  section  could  concentrate 
for  resistance.  Price  retreated  before  the  superior  force  of  Curtis ; 
but  immediately  upon  reaching  Arkansas,  not  being  pursued,  they 
concentrated  and  passed  from  defensive  to  offensive  action.  Gen- 
eral Van  Dorn  executed  a  movement  which  reflects  great  credit 
on  his  boldness  and  his  confidence  in  his  troops.  He  turned  the 
Federal  army  with  his  whole  force,  seized  its  communications  and 
forced  it  to  fight  when  cut  off  from  its  base.  The  battles  of 
Marengo,  Ulm,  Jena  and  Avcrstadt  were  fought  under  similar  con- 
ditions. Van  Dorn  was  beaten  because  he  tried  the  movement 
against  an  army  superior  in  men  and  armament;  but  the  Federal 
army  did  not  follow  up  the  advantage  seemingly  within  its  grasp. 

The  operations  of  the  center  zone  are  not  less  instructive.  The 
Ohio  River,  being  the  only  line  separating  the  nominal  jurisdiction 
of  the  opposing  forces,  becomes  practically  a  base-line  for  the 

Federal  troops.  Not  less  than  three  or  four  armies  advance  from 
this  base.  Pope,  along  the  Mississippi;  Giant,  along  the  Ten- 
nessee; Buel,  along  the  Louisville  and  Nashville  Railroad,  and 
smaller  corps  toward  Cumberland  Gap,  represent  the  movement. 
•  This  attempt  at  occupation  involved  division  of  force,  and  the 
more  it  was  attempted  the  more  frequently  were  small  commands 
beaten,  in  detail.  The  rout  of  Nelson ;  the  surrender  of  Mum- 
fordsville;  the  capture  of  a  brigade  near  Murfreesboro,  arc  ex- 
amples in  point.  The  premature  and  senseless  cry  of  "  On  to 
Richmond  "  affected  all  operations  in  the  left  sotie,  until  at  last 
Richmond  was  abandoned,  without  a  battle  for  its  retention. 
Washington  City  was  a  legitimate  objective  for  a  Confederate 
force,  as  its  occupation  would  have  assured  the  recognition  by 
foreign  states  of  a  de  facto  government,  while  thus  occupied  by 
the  Confederates;  but  Richmond  was  not  so  material  an  objective 
to  the  Federals  as  to  crush  opposing  armies. 

In  the  Seven-years' War  Russia  took  Berlin,  but  at  once  left  it. 
After  Salamanca,  Wellington  ventured  to  occupy  Madrid  ;  but  was 
happy  quickly  to  escape  by  Portugal.  In  1S05  and  1809  the  oc- 
cupation of  Vienna  by  Napoleon  was  declined,  as  not  tending  to 
finish  the  war.  It  was  Austcrlitz  and  Wagram  that  settled  the 
contest.  In  1812  the  possession  of  Moscow  assured  the  downfall 
of  Napoleon.  Washington  himself  could  not  be  drawn  by  Howe  into 
a  contest  for  Philadelphia.  To  keep  his  army  in  hand  and  wear 
out  the  army  of  his  adversary  was  more  hopeful  of  success  than  to 
hold  any  city. 

It  is  worthy  of  note,  that  during  the  campaign  of  1862,  one  of 
the  most  eventful  on  record,  the  military  genius,  sagacity  and 
scholarship  of  the  Confederate  leaders  were  signally  conspicuous ; 
while  the  National  cause  was  more  than  once  at  loss  where  to  find 
the  controlling  soldier  whose  policy  and  presence  might  utilize 
such  abundant  resources  and  effect  a  thorough  concentration  of  all 
armies,  in  all  zones,  so  as  to  crush,  at  the  same  time,  all  resistance. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  trying  hours  in  the  life  of  Mr.  Lincoln 
when,  still  believing  that  victory  could  be  secured  without  the 
formal  abolition  of  slavery,  he  awaited  the  arrival  of  Generals 
Halleck  and  Pope,  who  had  been  summoned  from  the  West,  in  the 
hope  that  a  man  had  been  found  equal  to  the  emergency.  General 
Pope  arrived  at  midnight  and  General  Halleck  at  four  o'clock  in 


the  morning.  Secretary  Chase,  only  the  afternoon  before,  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  surrender  his  portfolio  unless  General 
McClellan  were  relieved  and  the  entire  army  placed  under  some 
other  and  some  controlling  mind.  The  change  was  made.  The 
year  wore  out  its  hours,  and  \yith  its  approaching  close  the  con- 
viction deepened  in  the  mind  of  the  President  that  the  conflict  be- 
tween such  vast  hosts  of  brave  men,  of  the  same  blood,  would  not 
end  until  the  chief  factor  in  the  original  conflict  was  removed,  and 
the  slave  set  free. 

The  campaign  of  1862  closed  gloomily  enough;  for  the  vortex 
of  war  seemed  only  to  swallow  up  the  hundreds  of  thousands  who 
had  been  summoned  to  the  front,  with  very  meager  returns  for  the 
blood  and  treasure  expended ;  but  its  twelve  months  of  vicissitude 
were  full  of  assurance  that  a  people  who  could  survive  such  vicis- 
situdes must,  re-united,  and  in  a  just  cause,  be  invincible  s^ainst 
the  world. 



Blithe  bird,  to  whom  yon  dead  tree  near  the  marsh — 

Yon  saj^lcss,  hapless  trunk  —  a  casllc  seems, 

TIiou  rcckest  not  though  winter  winds  be  harsh 

And  hush  up  the  gay  gossip  of  the  streams ; 

Gayer  than  that  thy  sparkling  song  flics  forth, 

An  ultimatum  of  defiance  clear 

Unto  the  great  white  deserts  of  our  North, — 

For  in  thy  heart  is  summer  all  the  year ! 

Brave  little  fellow, — fain  to  choose  thy  nest 

When  snows  are  deep,  as  doth  the  Great  Homed  Owl, 

How  well  thou  matchest  that  fantastic  fowl ! 

Since,  if  his  owlship,  as  of  eld,  seem  best 

For  wisdom's  high-priest  to  the  feathered  laity, 

Thou,  surely,  art  the  type  of  wit  and  winged  gay^ty. 



The    John    Winthrop    Family  — The    Winthrop    Homestead  —  Other    Old 
Houses  —  Ancient  Elms  —  The  First  Burying  Ground. 


New  London  has  so  long  been  celebrated  for  the  possession  of 
one  of  the  finest  harbors  in  the  United  States,  that  strangers,  hear- 
ing its  citizens  dilate  upon  their  pet  hobby,  may  well  be  pardoned 
for  concluding  that  New  London's  chief  claim  upon  their  admir- 
ing regard  is  a  watery  one.  No  greater  mistake  could  be  made. 
Few  cities  have  more  right  to  command  the  admiration  of  the 
lover  of  the  beautiful  and  the  historic.  Were  it  the  province  of 
this  article  to  dwell  upon  the  natural  beauties  of  the  place,  pages 
could  easily  be  filled  where  now  paragraphs  must  suffice. 

The  town  is  built  upon  aslope  gradually  rising  from  the  Thames 
to  an  elevated  ridge  in  the  northwest,  from  which  a  superb  view 
can  be  had  of  the  river  in  its  ribbon-like  course  twisting  around 
the  bold  promontory  on  the  east,  thence  flowing  calmly  on  to 
mingle  in  the  waters  of  the  Sound, — whose  broad  surface  stretches 
away  to  the  south  like  a  sea  of  silver.  On  the  opposite  bank  lies 
the  village  of  Groton,  its  level  fields  of  gold-tasseled  corn,  its 
scattered  farm  houses  and  lofty  green  hills  forming  a  gladsome 
sight  beneath  the  strong  glare  of  the  August  sun  ;  yet  the  monu- 
ment to  the  victims  of  the  Fort  Griswold  massacre,  looming  up — a 
grim,  untiring  sentinel,  silently  voicing  the  tale  of  man's  passion 
and  patriotism,  baseness  and  nobility — eloquently  tells  how  once 
yonder  fair  scene  was  darkened  by  murder  most  foul  and  treach- 

On  the  north  the  landscape  becomes  exceedingly  diversified 
and  rugged.  Beyond  the  upper  portion,  a  high  elevation  seems 
to  wall  off  further  advance,  and  well  justifies  the  name  bestowed 
upon  it  in  the  early  colonial  days  by  a  homesick  settler,  who 
called  it ''  The  mountain  from  which  he  could  see  his  dear  England." 
Between  this  part  of  New  London  and  the  river  is  a  noble  wood 
of  forest  trees,  abounding  in  hills  and  hollows,  and  containing  oaks 
which  have  withstood  the  storms  of  centuries. 


The  walks  and  drives  about  the  town  in  any  direction  afford  the 
lover  of  **  nature  adorned  by  man  *'  a  fair  chance  to  go  into  ecstasies 
of  cither  joy  or  grief,  and  make  the  critical  stickler  for  architec- 
tural principles  a  little  perplexed  to  find  names  for  thre  varied 
styles  which  will  be  sure  to  attract  his  attention.  Some  of  the 
private  residences  bear  convincing  testimony  to  their  owners*  taste. 
Few  cities  can  show  a  more  simply  elegant  mansion  than  the  Mt, 
Vernon  house,  built  by  General  Jedediah  Huntington,  the  first  Col- 
lector of  the  port  under  the  Federal  Government,  —  now  owned 
and  occupied  by  E.  L.  Palmer,  who  has  renovated  and  beautified 
the  place  without  marring  its  harmonious  simplicity. 

It  is  a  curious  evidence  of  the  jealousy  with  which  the  higher 
powers  regarded  any  aspiring  settlement,  to  find  that  it  was  only 
after  a  long  and  obstinate  struggle  that  the  dwellers  on  the  bank 
of  the  river  they  had  christened  ** Thames"  were  able  to  get  the 
authorities  to  consent  to  call  their  plantation  "New  London." 
The  name  first  given,  *'Namceug,"  was  not  to  the  liking  of  the 
home-loving  settlers,  as  we  find  from  the  records : — 

22  Feb.,  1648.  —  The  same  day  the  inhabitants  did  consent  and  desier  that  the 
plantation  maj  be  called  London. 

The  General  Court,  however,  did  not  approve  their  choice,  for, 
under  date  of  May,  1649,  it  is  recorded  that  "the  Court  com- 
mends the  name  of  Faire  Harbour  to  them,  for  to  be  the  name  of 
their  Towne." 

That  the  inhabitants  did  not  follow  the  advice  of  the  General 
Court  is  shown  by  the  town  records,  viz. : 

Aupj.   29th.  — The  Towne  have  sent   to   the   Court  by  there  deputjrs,  Huf^h 
Calkin  &  Thomas  Mynor,  that  the  Towne*s  name  may  be  caUed  London. 

The  Court  was  obdurate.  In  enlarging  the  town's  bounds  to 
Paukatuck  River,  the  ensuing  September,  it  refers  to  the  presump- 
tuous settlement  as  "Nameagc."  The  people  of  "Nameage"  were 
just  as  obstinate  as  the  Court, — which  finally  yielded  gracefully , — 
as  witness  this  entry  in  its  records:  — 

Mar.  24,  1658.  —  This  Court,  considering  that  there  hath  yet  no  place  in  any 
of  the  colonies  been  named  in  honor  of  the  city  of  London,  there  being  a  new 
plantation  within  this  jurisdiction  of  Connecticut,  settled  upon  the  fair  river  of 
Monhegin,  in  the  Pequot  country,  it  being  an  excellent  harbour  and  a  fit  and 
convenient  place  for  future  trade,  it  being  also  the  only  place  which  the  English 
of  these  parts  have  possessed  by  conquest,  and  that  by  a  very  just  war,  upon  that 
great  and  warlike  people,  the  Pequots,  that  therefore,  they  might  thereby  leave 
to  posterity  the  memory  of  that  renowned  city  of  I^ondon,  from  whence  we  had 

HlSrOKfC   .\/i\r   LONDON. 

our  Iransportalion,  have   thought   fit,  in   liunoiir  In  ihat  fjimons  dtv,         lall    (he 
said  plantation  New  Lonpok.     [Conn.  Col.  Rec.  Vol.  I.] 

It  is  a  somewhat  curious  comment  upon  the  ingratitude  of  towns, 
to  find  so  little  preserved  in  New  London  commemorative  of  the 
man  who  did  so  much  for  the  town  and  for  Connecticut.  Tliat 
Connecticut  must  have  been  colonized  in  time  admits  of  no  doubt. 
That  it  would  ever  have  enjoyed  the  remarkable  advantages  which 
contributed  so  much  to  its  growth  without  the  aid  of  John  Win- 
throp  is  highly  improbable. 

John  Wintlirop,  the  younger,  Governor  and  chief  founder  of 
Connecticut,  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  leader  of  the  second  Puritan 
emigration,  which  was  really  the  foundation  of  the  Massachusetts 
colony.  He  was  born  February  1 2,  1 605.  The  Winthrops  were  an 
ancient  and  honorable  family  of  Groton,  in  Suffolk,  and  could  well 
bestow  upon  him  the  rare  advantages  he  received.  After  leaving 
the  University  of  Dublin,  he  was  at  the  siege  of  Rochelle  with  the 
Duke  cf  Buckingham,  but  probably  left  that  nobleman's  service 
before  his  assassination.  The  courtly  training  Winthrop  thus 
gained  served  Connecticut  well  in  after  years.  It  did  not,  how- 
ever, attach  him  to  the  court  of  the  Stuarts;  for,  in  163 1,  he 
came  with  his  wife  to  Massachusetts.  This  lady,  after  fourteen 
years  in  wedlock,  died  childless;  and  a  year  later,  Winthrop,  then 
in  England,  married  lillizabeth  Read,  of  Essex,  and  with  her  and 
her  step-father,  Hugh  Peters  (the  celebrated  Puritan  divine  who 
wanted  to  have  Charles  I.  listen  to  his  prayers  the  night  before 
his  execution)  returned  to  America  in  16S5. 

Impressed  by  the  energy,  education  and  enterprise  of  Winthrop, 
the  patentees  of  Connecticut  commissioned  him  to  begin  the  Say- 
brook  settlement.  He  immediately  despatched  an  advance  guard 
of  twenty,  who  left  Boston,  November  3d.  and  succeeded  in  prevent- 
ing the  Dutch  from  taking  possession,  but  did  nothing  until  spring ; 
when  Winthrop  set  Lion  Gardiner,  the  engineer,  to  building  forti- 
fications. He  himself  was  not  satisfied  with  the  limits  set  down 
in  his  instructions,  and  followed  along  the  coast  till  he  came  to 
Pequot  Harbor.  It  needed  not  a  second  glance  to  convince  his 
far-seeing  mind  of  the  magnificent  possibilities,  which  both  he  and 
Stoughton  pointed  out  to  their  superiors.  He  had  already  settled 
upon  Fyshcr's  Island  for  his  own ;  and,  ambitious  to  establish  a 
baronial  estate,  early  determined  to  locate  at  Pequot, 


But  the  Pequot  war  arose  almost  immediately.  The  conflict 
between  the  natives  and  the  whites  ended  with  an  act  of  the  most 
atrocious  cruelty.  In  June,  1637,  about  one  hundred  prisoners 
were  taken  in  the  Pine  Swamp,  Groton ;  the  men,  thirty  in  num- 
ber, were  brought  out  into  the  middle  of  the  river  and  drowned ; 
the  women  and  children  were  sold  into  captivity. 

Although  deferred,  Winthrop's  determination  had  not  decreased. 
In  the  interim  he  had  gained  the  favor  of  Sashious,  sachem  of 
the  Nahantics,  and  obtained  from  him  the  grant  of  a  considerable 
portion  of  his  territory.  In  1640,  he  received  from  the  General 
Court  of  Massachusetts  the  grant  of  Fysher's  Island  and  this 
grant  was  confirmed  by  the  Court  of  Connecticut,  as  witnesseth 
this  extract: — 

April  9,  1641.  — Upon  Mr.  Winthrop's  motion  to  the  Court  for  Fisher's 
Island,  it  is  the  mind  of  the  Court  that  so  far  as  it  hinders  not  the  public  good 
of  the  country,  either  for  fortifving,  for  defence  or  for  setting  up  a  trade  for  fish- 
ini^,  or  salt  and  such  like,  he  shall  have  liberty  to  proceed  therein.  [Col.  Rec 
Conn.  Vol.  I.] 

Winthrop's  application  for  Fyshcr's  Island  was  but  the  precursor 
of  his  settlement  on  the  island  and  at  Namcag.  On  his  return 
from  Eni;land  in  1643,  he  was  engaged  for  some  time  in  salt 
works.  In  i645,Winthrop  and  Thomas  Peters,  an  ejected  Puritan 
clergyman  of  Cornwall,  England,  were  the  principal  directors  in 
the  work  of  settling  Pequot  Harbor.  The  mistake  in  dating  the 
natal  day  of  New  London,  May  6,  1646,  is  owing  to  the  fact  that 
this  was  the  day  the  following  commission  was  issued: — 

At  a  General  Court  held  at  Boston,  6th  of  May,  i6»6.  Whereas,  Mr.  John  Winthrop,  Jan.,  ftnd 
some  others  have,  by  allowance  of  this  Court,  bL'gun  a  plantation  in  the  Pequot  country,  which 
appertains  to  this  jurisdiction,  as  pait  c  f  our  proportion  of  the  conquered  country;  and,  wherean, . 
this  Court  is  informed  that  £omc  Indians  who  arc  nrw  planted  rprn  the  p^ace  where  the  said 
plantation  is  begun,  arc  willing  to  remove  from  their  planting  groimd  for  the  more  qntet  and  con- 
venient settlement  cf  the  Ilnglish  there,  so  that  they  may  have  another  convenient  place.  It  Is 
therefore  ordered  that  Mr.  John  Winthrrp  may  appoint  unto  si:ch  Indians  as  are  willing  to  remove 
their  lands  on  the  other  side,  that  !•<,  en  the  cast  side  ef  the  Great  River  cf  the  Pequot  country,  or 
some  other  place  for  their  convenient  planting  and  subsistence,  which  may  be  to  the  go^d  liking 
and  satisfaction  of  the  said  Indians,  and  likewise  to  such  of  the  Pequot  Indians  as  shall  derirv  to 
live  there,  submitting  themselves  to  the  English  Government,  e'.c. 

And,  whereas,  Mr.  Thomas  Peters  is  intended  to  inhabtt  in  the  said  plantation— tihb Court dofh 
think  fit  to  join  him  to  assi^t  the  said  Mr.  Winthrc  p,  frr  the  better  carrying  on  the  work  of  —M 
plantation.    A  true  copy.     [New  London  Kec.  Book  VI.] 

But  Winthrop  had  commenced  the  plantation  in  the  previous 
year,  as  a  letter  from  Roger  Williams  to  him  bears  the  inscrip- 
tion: —  "For   his   honored   kind  friend,  Mr.  John  Winthrop,  at 




Pequot — Tiiese — Narragaiiset.  32iid  June,  1645."  In  the  letter 
Williams  sends  his  "  loving  salutes  to  your  dearest  and  kind 
sister",  Mrs,  Margaret  Lake,  who  came  with  Winthrop  and  Peters 
to  the  infant  settlement,  and  who  was  the  first  white  woman  who 
trod  upon  New  London  soil. 

In  October,  1646,  \Vinthrop  removed  his  family  from  Boston  to 
Fyshcr's  Island,  his  brother  Deanc  accompanying  them ;  and  in 
the  following  summer,  the  house  at  Nameag  being  completed, 
they  came  thither.  The  Winthrop  household  consisted  of  his  wife, 
Elizabeth,  also,  for  a  time,  Mrs.  Margaret  Lake,  and  his  children, 
Elizabeth,  Wait  Still,  Mary.  Lucy,  Fitz-John  and  Margaret. 
Martha  and  Anne  were  born  in  Pequot,  as  the  place  was  first 

It  is  impossible  to  glean  much  information  from  the  early  town 
records,  which  were  very  loosely  kept.  Miss  Caulkins,  in  her 
admirable  History  of  New  London,  says  the  first  records  were 
made  in  a  stitched  book,  which  some  considerate  scribe  labeled: 
"The  Antientest  Book  for  1648-49-50."  This  "Antientest  Book" 
and  its  successors  show  that  Winthrop  was  held  in  high  honor  by 
his  fellow  townsmen.  In  January.  1649,  it  was  "agreed  by  the 
townsmen  of  Namcjg  that  Mr.  John  Winthrop  is  granted  to  setup 
a  were,  and  to  make  huse  of  the  river  at  Poquamiick  at  the  uper 
end  of  the  plainc  for  to  take  from,  and  so  to  make  improvement 
of  it.  to  him  and  to  his  heirs  and  asignes."  He  is  never  men- 
tioned save  as  "Mr.  or  Esquire," — titles  very  charily  used.  In 
1650,  "Mr.  John  Winthrop"  and  "Mr.  Johnathan  Brewster" 
were  made  freemen  of  the  Connecticut  Colony.  The  next  meet- 
ing, in  February,  1649,  displays  the  growth  of  a  democratic  spirit ; 
for,  instead  of  having  sole  authority,  Mr.  Winthrop  is  granted  four 

A  very  pretty  incident  was  associated  with  the  early  history  of 
New  London,  and  may  properly  be  brought  in  here.  It  was  re- 
lated by  Winthrop  himself  in  1672  in  testifying  concerning  the 
boundaries  in  one  of  the  suits  with  its  neighbors,  which  the  litig- 
ious and  ambitious  town  was  constantly  maintaining. 

In  1646-47,  Jonathan  Rudd,  a  Saybrook  colonist,  was  very 
desirous  to  marry  his  afhanccd  bride.  All  had  been  prepared  for 
the  ceremony,  but  a  heavy  snow-storm  prevented  the  minister  en- 
gaged from  coming.     !n  this  extremity  he  applied  to  Winthrop. 



The  latter,  while  eager  to  aid  the  lovers,  was  not  legally  empowered 
to  officiate  in  Connecticut  jurisdiction,  holding,  as  he  did,  his 
authority  from  Massachusetts.  He  solved  the  difficulty  by  pro- 
posing that  the  bridal  company  come  to  "Bride  Brook,"  then 
called  **  Sunkipaug,"  two  miles  west  of  Niantic  Bay,  and  the  limit 
of  the  plantation.  The  proposition  was  accepted ;  and,  beside  the 
ice-covered  brook,  with  the  crisp  snow  crackling  beneath  their 
feet,  and  the  bare  branches  of  the  trees  intercepting  none  of  the 
feeble  rays  of  the  winter  sun,  was  performed  a  marriage  rite  un- 
paralleled in  romance,  and  yet  vouched  for  in  history. 

Winthrop,  Coit,  Shaw,  Perkins,  Hempstead,  Deshon,  Hallam, 
Mynor,  Brooks,  Chapman,  Christophers,  Prentis,  Brewster, — all 
names  known  in  New  London  history,  —  have  achieved  more 
than  local  fame ;  but  it  is  of  the  branch  of  the  great  Winthrop 
family,  intimately  associated  with  New  London's  fortunes,  that  we 
shall  at  this  time  treat. 

Like  Lion  Gardiner,  Winthrop  was  ambitious  to  found  in  the 
New  World  a  baronial  estate,  which  should  equal  in  fertility  and 
extent  the  grandest  held  by  English  peer  or  commoner.  But  un- 
like Lion  Gardiner,  the  wise  and  politic  Winthrop  never  wished 
to  have  a  realm  **  where  none  but  barbarians  would  visit  him  with- 
out an  invitation."    Winthrop,  above  all  things,  desired  to  have 



his  name  ravered  by  postL-rity  for  tlie  y;ood  wruii[fht  by  its  owner, 
to  have  generation  after  generation  of  Wiiitlirops  follow  in  inherit- 
ance of  the  noble  manor  lands  left  by  their  illustrious  ancestor. 

The  General  Courts  of  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut  and  the 
inhabitants  of  Nameag  proved  most  complaisant  in  the  furtherance 
of  his  desires.  In  the  division  of  land  he  was  always  allowed  first 
choice,  while  the  others  had  to  abide  by  lots.  He  selected  for  his 
home  lot  the  neck  of  land  (comprising  200  acres)  which  now 
bears  his  name  in  the  memory  of  the  older  inhabitants ;  and  these 
resent  the  presumption  which  has  led  the  residents  to  sacrifice 
historical  association  to  pride  of  city  association,  by  christening 
their  section  "  East  New  London." 

Winthrop's  Fisher's  Island  grant  has  already  been  described.  In 
addition,  he  had  on  the  east  side  of  the  river  a  tract  three  miles 
in  length  from  north  to  south,  averaging  perhaps  a  mile  in  breadth, 
lying  between  Poquonock  Creek  and  Mumford's  Cove,  washed  by 
the  Sound  on  the  south  and  intersected  by  inlets  of  salt  water,  and 
containing  forests,  meadows,  uplands,  pastures,  and  salt-marsh. 
His  river  lot  on  the  Groton  side  (so  called  in  compliment  to 
Groton,  the  Winthrop  family  seat  in  England)  was  eight  score 
pole  in  length,  the  same  in  width.  Beside  these  he  had  the  Mill 
Pond  Farm,  3CK)  acres;  Mystic,  Lanthorn  Hill,  Goat  Island,  and 
some  10,000  acres  in  Voluntown,  Plainfield,  Canterbury,  Wood- 
stock, Saybrook  and  Black-lead-mine  Hill  in  Massachusetts  Bay, 
10  miles  in  circumference.  Many  a  European  prince  might  have 
coveted  such  a  sovereignty.  In  March,  1649,  Roger  Williams 
writes  to  congratulate  him  on  his  possessions  at  Paukatuck. 

Winthrop  was  a  man  of  ceaseless  activitj-.  No  sooner  had  he 
accomplished  one  enterprise  than  he  turned  to  another.  While 
freely  serving  the  colony  in  every  public  capacity,  he  was  engaged 
in  salt,  iron,  and  fishing  enterprises;  he  traded,  farmed, botanized, 
quarried,  mineralized, — sending  specimens  to  Sir  Hans  Sloane, — 
raised  goats  and  sheep,  and  setup  mills  and  forges.  He  continued 
in  the  magistracy  till  made  governor ;  he  was  a  member  of  a  special 
court  of  three  who  decided  suits  too  important  to  bring  before  the 
General  Court;  was  the  personal  friend  and  adviser  of  every  man 
in  the  colony,  and  performed  all  marriages  in  the  early  days,  and 
often  administered  medicine.  He  was  thoroughly  identified  with 
New  London,  which  he  had  resolved  should  be  his  home;   and 


Ah^n,  in  I'CS/,  the  r.eTt-7.  came  that  he  had  been  chosen  Governor, 
rh^:  =iOrrow  of  hi-.  f':'.lo'Jv-to'An.-:men  nearly  overpowered  their  pride 
and  \>V-/*x%\\ui  at  th^;  r';co;;nit:on  of  hi-s  worth. 

It  •^'.as  nrc^:-.-.arv  for  the  chief  magi-strate  to  remove  to  Hartford, 
S';r  thotj^^h  he  contin'jcd  in  the  office  of  Governor  from  1657  to 
i^//^/,  \\*:  always  cr,n\vU:r^A  Pequot,  or  New  Lxjndon,  as  his  home. 
Ifjs  \\fprur  .tf:;if\  he  had  previously  be-itowed  upon  Edward  Palmes 
of  Sf\».'  Ffjiven,  uho  had  married  hi.s  daughter  Lucy.  Winthrop 
^l"verih'>  this  in  hi-,  \vill,  a-  follow-:  — 

"  '[  he  stone  hoii  v:,  formerly  my  dwcIIinj;-house,  in  New  London, 
with  '/arrlen  anrl  orchard,  as  formcrlv  convcved  to  said  Palmes 
,\\\(\  in  hi  i  ir^e  anrl  po-^session,  with  the  land  lying  to  the  north  of 
the  sai^I  hou  ,e  Uy  join  with  James  Rogers.  Also,  a  lot  of  six  acres 
lyin^;  ea-.t  of  the-  house,  bounded  north  by  the  oxe-pasture  and 
<  a-.l  f)y  tlu-  ^ireat  Kiver,  and  having  two  great  oak  trees  near  the 
rentf-r  linr," 

'['he  stone-  house  thus  bequeathed  to  Palmes  was  the  house 
rrftrrl  in  164S  by  Winthrop  for  his  own  occupancy.  It  was  a 
ino  .t  stately  c!w(-lling,  and  one  of  the  three  stone  houses  then  in 
\\\i-  ( oWuiy.  The  stc>ne  from  which  it  was  built  had  been  quarried 
a  mile  from  the  town  and  brought  to  the  "Neck"  with  great 

"  I  he  Neck,"  as  Winthrop's  manor  lot  was  called,  was  a  bold 
ru^^»;ed  point  jutting  out  into  the  river,  remarkable  for  its  stern  and 
lofty  beiuity  and  its  jagged  and  picturesque  outline.  Winthrop 
built  his  mansion  at  the  head  of  the  cove  on  the  east  side,  where  it 
stood  for  more  than  a  century,  shaded  by  gigantic  oaks, — the  only 
house  on  the  whoh'  point.  Its  noble  avenue  of  oaks,  its  wide 
lawn*.,  its  j;ardens  of  (lowers  and  fruit,  and  its  magnificent  parks  of 
.uuienl  forest  trees,  with  sheep  and  deer  gambolling  beneath  their 
mij;hty  branehes,  or  reposing  in  their  shade,  formed  an  estate  well 
eah'ulated  to  swell  the  owner's  heart  with  pardonable  pride. 

It  was  the  intention  of  Winthrop  that,  while  his  daughter  Lucy 
should  have  this  mansii>n  and  land,  all  his  possessions,  at  the  time 
of  his  death,  .^hould  bo  held  jointly  by  his  two  sons, — his  four 
other  daughters  having  been  portioned,  as  well  as  Lucy. 

The  contrary  realization  of  Winthrop's  dreams  show  how  God 
disposes  of  what  man  proposes.  Of  all  the  vast  area  bearing  the 
name  i>f  Winthrop,  but  one  small  section  remains,  and  even  that 




-wishes  to  discard  the  name  which  Connecticut  has  such  reason  to 

Lucy  Winthrop  Palmes  died  the  year  following  her  father's 
demise,  She  left  one  daughter,  Lucy,  who  inherited  the  manor  in 
1712.  Though  twice  married  she  died  childless,  and  bequeathed 
the  Winthrop  manor  to  her  step-brothers,  Guy  and  Andrew 
Palmes.      In  1740  it  was  sold  to  John  Plumbc. 

When  Arnold  burned  New  London,  September  6,  1781,  the 
Plumbe  house  was  the  first  fired  upon  Winthrops  Neck. 

The  two  sons  of  Governor  Winthrop,  Fltz-John  and  Wait  Still, 
adhered  scrupulously  to  their  father's  will.  Both  were  men  of 
great  prominence  in  the  Connecticut  colony,  but  neither  circum- 
stances nor  character  enabled  them  to  excel  their  father  in  services, 
though  they  were  worthy  scions  of  the  name.  Wait  Winthrop 
succeeded  his  brother  John  as  major  of  the  county  regiment,  and 
some  ten  or  hvelve  years  later  took  up  his  abode  in  Boston. 

John  Winthrop  fulfilled  much  the  same  duties  as  his  father,  but 
had  a  far  greater  share  of  military  service.  When  King  Phihp's 
War  broke  out  in  1675,  John  Winthrop.  then  the  highest  military 
commander  in  the  country,  was  very  ill,  and  his  brother.  Captain 
Wait  Winthrop,  was  dispatched  at  the  head  of  the  New  London 
contingent.  It  is  worthy  of  note  that  New  London  always  re- 
sponded generously  to  any  appeal  to  her  patriotism. 

In  1690,  during  King  William's  War,  Major-General  Fitz-John 
Winthrop  was  commander-in-chief  of  the  forces  of  New  York  and 
New  England,  and  made  an  expedition  into  the  Canadian  territory, 
intending  to  attack  Montreal.  The  Indians,  who  were  to  cooperate, 
failed  to  appear ;  Winthrop  was  beset  with  difRculties,  and  only  by 
the  exercise  of  the  utmost  strategy  succeeded  in  reaching  Albany, 
where  the  New  York  Government,  professing  to  lay  the  defeat  at 
his  door,  were  prevented  from  sacrificing  him  to  popular  indigna- 
tion only  by  the  boldness  of  friendly  Mohawks,  who  gallantly 
rescued  their  beloved  commander,  and  brought  him  back  from 
prison  to  his  own  camp. 

From  this  expedition  General  Winthrop  brought  back  to  New 
London  nothing  but  a  fame  untarnished — after  the  most  severe 
scrutiny  by  the  legislature  of  the  colony.  His  daughter  and  only 
child,  Mary,  however,  had  reason  to  rejoice  at  its  disastrous  ter- 
mination, as  it  was  the  direct  cause  of  her  meeting  and  wedding 


the  brave  Captain  (Colonel)  Livingston,  whci  was  one  of  the  New 
York  officers  who  took  refuge  with  Winthrop  until  the  senseless 
indignation  of  his  government  should  give  place  to  reason.  But 
he  never  returned  to  New  York.  He  became  interested  in  some 
of  the  numerous  projects  of  his  father-in-law.  After  Mary's  death 
he  married  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Mrs.  Sarah  Knight,  and  died  in 
England  in  1720  while  transacting  business. 

Fitz-John  Winthrop  never  had  the  strength  and  endurance  so 
beneficcnlly  bestowed  upon  the  early  colonists.  From  1697  to 
1707,  while  Governor,  he  had  been  away  from  New  London  nearly 
all  the  time,  but  had  given  it  many  tokens  of  his  affectionate 
regard,  so  that  it  was  with  sincere  regret  that  the  inhabitants  learned 
of  his  death  at  Boston,  whither  he  had  gone  for  medical  aid.  The 
Boston  News  Letter,  the  first  newspaper  published  in  North 
America,  begun  in  1704,  contained  this  death  notice: 

Boston,  Nov.  l^t'h,  1707.  —  About  4  o'clotk  this  mortiing  Ihe  Honorable  John 
Winthrop.  Esq.,  Governor  ofllis  Majeitys  Colony  of  Connecticut,  departed  this 
life  in  the  69th  year  of  his  age.  Being-born  at  Ipsn-ich,  in  New  Enginnd,  March 
14th,  anno  1638; — Whose  bodj  is  to  be  interred  here  on  Thursday  next,  the  4th 
of  December. 

He  was  buried  with  his  father  and  grandfather  in  King's  Chapel. 

Fitz-John  had  married  Elizabeth  Tongc.  daughter  of  George  and 
Margery  Tongc,  keepers  of  the  public  inn.     She  survived  him  till 
1731.  living  in  her  father's  house.     Her  only  child,  Mary  Winthrop    . 
Livingston,  died  January  1712;   of  her  burial  place  there  is  not 
the  slightest  trace. 

In  their  endeavor  to  keep  the  estate  as  their  father  had  desired, 
the  Winthrop  brothers  had  a  long  and  vexatious  lawsuit  with 
Major  Edward  I'almes.  husband  of  their  dead  sister  Lucy.  He 
was  defeated  in  the  colonial  courts,  and  fared  no  better  in  England, 
whither  he  had  appealed  it.  Wait  Still  Winthrop  had  a  son  John, 
whom  Fitz-John  and  he  had  agreed  should  be  sole  heir  of  their 
joint  possessions,  but,  curiously  enough,  the  younger  John  Win- 
throp had  also  to  establish  his  claims  to  the  undivided  possessions 
of  his  father  and  uncle  by  a  lawsuit, — Mrs.  Thomas  Lechmerc,  of 
Boston,  his  only  sister,  claiming  her  portion.  Joseph  Dudley,  his 
father-in-law,  testified  before  the  colonial  courts  that  Governor 
Fitz-John  Winthrop  had  meant  to  have  his  nephew  his  sole  heir, 
but  the  courts,  recognizing  that  the  acknowledgment  of  Winthrop's 
claims  would  be  admitting  that  the  English  law  of  primogeniture 



had  force  in  the  colonies,  decided  against  him.  He  was  naturally 
very  indignant  and  appealed  to  the  king,  who  confirmed  him  in 
possession  of  his  cstatts. 

He  was  as  dissatisfied  with  the  colonists  as  they  with  him,  and 
for  twenty-one  years  he  remained  abroad  ;  but  his  wife  and  family 
made  New  London  their  home,  and  his  cldtist  son,  John  Still 
VVinlhrop.  went  to  London  in  1741,  and  remained  with  his  father 
till  the  latter's  death,  August  1,  1747. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  the  lot  sold  by  the  first  Governor 
Winthrop  to  James  Rogers,  a  baker,  who  furnished  bread  to  the 
colonial  troops.  Winthrop "s  transfer  of  this  portion  of  his  estate 
was  afterwards  the  source  of  the  greatest  annoyance  to  his  heirs, 
a.s  they  were  continually  in  litigation  with  Rogers  over  the  water 
privileges.  Madam  Winthrop  re-purchased  the  lot,  which,  a 
century  after  the  first  Winthrop  sold  it,  thus  became  again  a  part 
of  the  Winthrop  estate,  Upon  it  now  stands  the  stately  mansion 
built  by  John  Still  Winthrop  (great  grandson  of  the  learned,  wise 
and  gentle  John  Winthrop)  in  1747,  just  a  century  after  his  great 
ancestor  built  the  Winthrop  manor  on  his  "  home  lot." 

A  grand  old  relic  it  is  of  a  grand  old  family.  It  stands  at  the 
very  head  of  the  cove,  separated  from  it  by  a  narrow  street,  bord- 
ered on  one  side  by  gigantic  English  elms  and  a  meadow  beyond. 
In  front  of  it  stretches  away  "The  Neck,"  with  its  bridges,  its 
workshops,  its  railroads,  its  neat  dwellings, — a  busy,  bustling  min- 
iature city;  and  here  and  there  towers  up  a  stately  old  tree,  cast- 
ing the  shade  of  antiquity  over  the  modern  glare.  Afar  oiT  pulses 
the  Thames, — its  sun-kissed  waves  gleaming  and  sparkling.  To 
'  the  left  a  modest  little  church  nestles  under  the  steep  hill,  which  up  abruptly,  and  with  its  overhanging  boulders,  gnarly 
stumps  and  stunted  cedars,  forms  a  wild  and  forbidding  prelude  to 
the  beautiful  forest  beyond  it. 

The  Winthrop  manor  is  a  very  old  stately  house,  built  in  the  solid 
elegance  which  characterized  the  English  country  houses  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  provided  with  an  abundance  of  roomy 
porches  and  balconies.  A  high  stone  wall,  surmounted  by  a 
palisade-like  fence,  encloses  the  front  lawn.  Passing  through  the 
massive  gales,  one  comes  upon  lawns  and  gardens,  once  the 
pride  of  the  gardener's  heart.  Rare  roses  run  riot,  English  shrub- 
bery, brought  thither   by  Consul    General  Stewart,  form  tangled 


*2&Qnjt  tonstt:  inaKDC  ttSitt:  ILastt  fenmihr  Ikft  ttflwr  nmiamffiWMii,  ftt  fecanf  tdine 
oanipincss:  €jf  flftegikctL  Solffiiiiniig;  angMtm  ttflMr  igprannntr  gKcarttBDov  (onae  casmwrtt 
Ifacdlp  (no^DjainraB;^  nnp  TttSMXES  of  ttfiae  patstt  Msftoiry  rf  ttfioe  cM  nmoDD'Oir^ 
H«ine-  J«o>3Dim  Sttii!13  WiiimtlSnincif)  iiM  aimd  w:2ltc2D«f«fl  ttEocc  garr  pcrannn^  ptecf^ 

K^sms:  rf  ttHae  g3iind«Q  jujcrliks  laiiiDelii  wrfjnt  iiO)  ptoponllar  inn  tduc  (oM  ttamaejL 

pmstSy  onaaiSd  ^rJk:  ifonrlii  to  k>£^  a  m^slL 

ttiiCDces  Hemps^teadi..  is-Ia^c^fie:  c!h.2lir^%  ^z-^^'^y  diainr  kzt?  l»e«n  a  ;gfo»d- 
A©d  aa  aii-tr  y<eairK.  m:bt3  tbt  Slxartf  3D<f]d  ineugn. — GeiC)r^,  W-Tl- 

liaJli  of  libe  WinliiT.C'p^  rescJiDODdtd  wiiii  y-ooar  aiDteinry  laingtator  aud 
rsv  itsti--- — eTi'tii  ■"  Aazni"'"  AmeHv,  Ibe  •***  eclDiiwS  "^  cook — mia-cisc  f^onS 
*tec--nned  bo'isnd  rp  in  ber  pasirje?  a:i$d  piD-ddin^-?^  —  w^O'^aM  ka^~c  lacjr 
laik  .aud  gazf  after  •'"de  y<:>a2i3g  tfolksts'"  as  ih^  departed  tape® 
M.':nrc  -ajld  oTCuic.  An^d  deaf  ajnd  dximb  Oaik-id  BcJks^iihe  c.oumttcT- 
p.Lrt  'cf  lilt  anxioais  Majliia  -cf  the  Biblf:,  lie  m^jor  difm.c'^  l3»e 
aia-fi:]  dragon  -abo  piresSded  ovct  lije  red  and  gC'ld  appks, — vCtob 
be  -aorld  v5e]d  iiis  cSa-oicest  treasnies  nilii  alacrin'  to  Isabella  <sr 

Ob  !  old  boxLse,  grim  mitSa  ibe  s:3envOC  of  HoueHiaesf,  wbal  a  tale 
cc^nld'st  tboia  tell  if  ih}'  Trails  gave  back  the  words  tbeii-*  have  ofrcan 
druu]-: !  Wlaat  woiald  :ts  tenor  be?  Wc^nld  h  be  a  ooraedv,  foil 
of  ligbl,  tie  vmkli-ng  of  ronsk,  tbe  npple  of  laiaghler,  ibe  wbir  tof 
dancing  feet, — "srould  tbeie  be  angbt  <:>f  darkness  or  gioom? 

A  Ytry  jolly  set  were  tbe  Slewans, — the  consul,  gra^-e  and 
quiet,  much  pre-occupied  Tiilh  his  duties,  and  absorbed  in  his  bus- 
iness, a  press-naill  which  was  run  on  the  spot  where  the  Albert^Mi 
foundiy  now  stands,  yet  ne\'er  negk-cting  the  calls  c>f  hospitality; 
and  Mr«=-  Stewart,  a  ty^  of  the  English  lady,  much  given  to  rid- 



ing,  hunting,  partying,  dressing  and  dancing.  The  older  people 
of  New  London  still  treasure  in  their  memory  the  famous  Stewart 
balls  and  skating  parties,  to  which  it  was  high  honor  to  be  a  guest. 

Speaking  of  skating  reminds  one  that  the  famous  mill-pond  of 
Governor  VVinthrop  must  be  included  in  this  estate,  and  we  incon- 
tinently desert  the  manor —  after  having  lingered  for  the  regula- 
tion time,  absorbed  in  admiration  of  the  great  drawing-room  with 
its  rare  panels  and  scriptural  tiles.  Out  through  the  porte- 
coch^rc,  fighting  one's  way  through  tall  Orange  lilies — commemor- 
ating the  memory  of  pious  William — into  the  damp,  dark  avenue. 
The  writer  was  prepared  to  give  allowances  for  the  ravages  of 
time  and  neglect,  —  but  can  this  reedy,  sedgy  little  triangle  be  the 
famous  pond  which  provoked  so  much  litigation?  Was  it  from 
this  that  the  whalers  used  to  fill  their  barrels?  Was  it  over 
this  surface  the  swan-s  majestically  floated, — where  the  Stewarts 
rowed  in  summer  and  skated  in  winter?  Yes,  for  there  is  boat- 
house  and  ice-house,  and  the  littio  bridge  "which  spans  its  rapid 
flow."  Though  one  may  be  disappointed  in  its  size,  one  cannot 
avoid  being  struck  by  its  calm,  lethargic  beauty.  Its  centre  is 
perfectly  clear  and  motionless,  of  a  peculiar  greenish  hue.  The 
northern  and  western  sides  arc  a  mass  of  water-lilies  in  bloom, — 
their  glossy  green  leaves,  spread  out  upon  the  water,  tenderly  hold 
up  the  flowers;  at  the  upper  end  a  wall  of  wild  roses,  dwarf 
maples,  wild  clematis  and  elder  bushes,  forms  a  dense  thicket;  at 
one  side  a  broken  hawthorn  hedge  strives  lo  cover  the  obtrusive 
ugliness  of  an  old  stone  wall,  which  defiantly  refuses  to  be  hidden, 
and  a  solitary  weeping  willow  drops  its  tears  upon  the  placid  sur- 
face; near  by,  a  vigorous  young  oak  proudly  flings  out  its  sturdy 
branches  as  though  the  sluggish  decay  about  it  made  it  rejoice  in 
its  full  life.  A  woodpecker  darts  at  its  trunk ;  a  catbird  emits  a 
quavering  cry;  a  chipmunk,  leaping  along  the  stone  wall,  pauses 
to  regard  us  with  unrestrained,  enquiring  astonishment;  then  a 
robin  dips  his  beak  into  the  water,  and  a  curious  little  fish  comes 
up  to  take  a  peep. 

The  rays  of  the   August    sun    are   most   delightfully   tempered. 
one  almost  succumbs  to  a  Kip  Van  Winkle  drowsiness,  when  the 
jingle,  jingle  of  the  city  'bus,  watering  its  horses  at  a  neighboring  • 
trough,  prove  a  most  eflicacious  antidote. 

Going  down  the  avenue,  the  first  thing  which  impresses  us  is 


the  time-defying  character  of  the  stables,  which  seem  to  have 
been  built  to  shelter  a  whole  troop  of  horses;  one  building, — a 
long,  narrow  structure,  with  arched  doors  and  tiny  panel  win- 
dows—  is  surmounted  by  an  empty  belfry;  it  strongly  suggests  a 
guard  house. 

Judging  from  the  present  umbrageous  features  of  the  estate, 
the  former  owners  must  have  derived  immense  "pleasure  in  the 
pathless  woods,*'  for  here  are  oak,  maple,  pine,  poplar,  elm, 
spruce,  ash,  the  "light,  quivering  aspen,"  the  noisome  ailanthus, 
butternut  and  mulberry.  If  they  had  designed  to  give  evidence  of 
their  abilities  in  arboriculture,  they  could  not  have  better  succeeded. 

But  if  the  old  Winthrop  house  is  redolent  of  antiquity,  what  can 
be  said  of  its  neighbor,  —  modestly  hiding  under  the  shadow  of  its 
eaves,  as  it  were  —  the  old  mill,  built  in  165 1  by  the  first  settlers  at 

Miss  Caulkins'  History  of  New  London  says:  ** The  establish- 
ment of  a  mill  was  an  object  of  prime  importance.  It  was  decided 
in  town  meeting,  the  loth  of  November,  1650,  that  all  the  inhab- 
itants should  co-operate  with  Mr.  Winthrop  in  building  the  mill ; 
and  that, — 

"Further,  it  is  agreed  that  no  person  or  persons  shall  setup  any 
other  mill  to  grind  corn  for  the  town  of  Pequett  within  the  limits 
of  the  town,  cither  for  the  present,  nor  for  the  future,  so  long  as 
Mr.  John  Winthrop  or  his  heirs,  do  uphold  a  milne  to  'grind  the 
town  corn.'" 

The  town  faithfully  adhered  to  its  agreement,  though  the  heirs 
of  Winthrop  did  not;  and  it  was  not  till  1709  that  another  was 
built  at  Jordan. 

Well  tjiey  wrought, — those  men  of  steel !  To-day  the  stones 
of  the  dam  are  as  firmly  set,  as  when  —  the  last  one  placed — the 
weary  laborers  drew  back  with  proud  satisfaction  from  their  task. 

Salvator  Rosa  never  had  better  subject  than  the  old  mill  affords. 
Its  long  sloping  roof  nearly  descends  to  the  door,  over  which  it 
projects,  forming  a  portico  supported  by  the  self-same  knotty, 
gnarly,  twisted  cedar  posts  cut  by  a  Brewster,  or  a  Latham,  two 
hundred  and  thirty-five  years  ago.  The  door,  of  massive  planks 
crossed  by  huge  iron  bars,  opens  in  upper  and  lower  halves;  a 
precaution  needed  in  the  days  when  not  over-peaceable  or  honest 
Indians  were  frequent  visitors.     The  small  windows  have  doubtless 



served  for  loopholes  for  muskets.  The  cellar  must  have  been  de- 
signed for  a  dungeon.  Within  the  massive  rafters  almost  touch 
one's  head ;  its  semi-darkness  and  a  feeHng  of  awe  make  the 
intruder  glad  to  breathe  again  the  fresh  air. 

But  the  old  mill  has  other  than  musty  memories.  Over  its 
threshold  has  stepped  many  a  fair  girl-bride;  within  its  walls 
many  a  happy  family  were  reared.  The  old  portion,  set  off  for 
the  miller's  family,  is  stiH  in  perfect  preservation.  The  last  miller, 
Giles  Perkins,  spent  his  first  years  of  married  life  beneath  its  roof. 
At  the  side  opening,  on  Winthrop  avenue,  is  a  little  door,  upon 
whose  step  the  miller's  wife  often  sat,  surrounded  by  her  children, 
and  watched  the  doings  of  the  great  house. 

Dame  Nature  was  at  her  wildest  when  she  planned  the  little 
glen  in  which  the  mill  is  situated.  Nothing  but  an  earthquake 
could  have  produced  such  a  magnificent  confusion  of  rocks,  small, 
medium,  large, —  rocks  worn  into  basins  by  the  constant  flow  of 
the  water  which  dashes  from  one  to  another  down  the  steep  in- 
cline, lashing  itself  with  foam,  throwing  up  spray  and  roaring  like 
a  Niagara  on  a  very  small  scale;  rocks  completely  covered  with 
gray  moss,  and  rocks  from  whose  split  hearts  a  lofty  tree  has 
arisen.  The  profusion  of  rocks  is  only  equalled  by  that  of  the 
trees.  They  grow  in  all  directions,  in  all  shapes,  of  all  sizes,  at 
all  angles.  Wherever  a  blade  of  grass  has  found  foothold,  up  it 
springs,  of  a  marvellous  freshness  and  greenness,  which  would  do 
credit  to  the  Emerald  Isle.  And  such  ferns !  They  would  make 
the  puny  pet  of  the  conservatory  wilt  away  in  mortification. 

Silent  and  desolate  is  the  old  mill  now, — seeming  to  have  gained 
a  deeper  lonesomencss  since  the  death  of  the  last  miilcr,  a  short 
lime  since.  The  old  overshot  wheel  hangs  dry  and  motionless, 
never  again  to  feel  the  maiitery  of  the  hand  which  for  forty  years 
set  its  busy,  cheery  clatter  agoing. 

Placid,  gentle,  guileless  old  Giles  Perkins!  How  fitting  would 
it  have  been  for  mill  and  miller  to  have  ceased  their  usefulness 

Main  street  (Town,  in  the  old  time,)  is  the  oldest  street  after 
Bank  and  Beach  (Water.)  "When  Arnold  burnt  the  town,"  he 
left  very  few  dwellings  upon  its  length.  The  dwelling  house-  at 
present  occupied  by  judge  John  P.  C.  Mather  —  may  not  have 
any  historic  recollections  associated  with  it,  but  the  many  admir- 

134  HJbKMiC  ShW  LOykBOX. 

^"t-vfctttiitti  JJ'cAk  7  .  Wart,  win  j^'-^bai^lhr  ^-tl  inakt:  it  xbe  -cinficl  -of  a 

*ixK  livutit  <^  OtjAitin  <itnr  Kadbards.  crtscasd  inr  iiim  in  BJB^u  Saul 

■J3ik</tik^  i<^  liit:  ]:ift  </  tikt  caj/Lain'-B  dangfal^r.  lai)©  Tiras  dan^ir- 
'<^Wb1r  riJJ  <^  fcrtrr.  7  lit  XMract  hcti**  <>f  inttrcKt  if  l3ie  iacMse  €m  liht 
^^^w-r  <^  M-iii©  ;icod  Siiaj^k-)'  *^t?t-t*^.  .cnriMjd  In'  W_  D-  Pratt  ixho 

1]^^  k-^-yt  it  at>  v/t^y  its  pf>^5bltr  in  its  old  fc^rao-     It  -s^s  Iwaik  ia 

vr}^/v«r  ^/'yrXf^X  m  tJitr  fajuaJy  gallt-n-  sbcjirf  !>«-  to  be  a  £air,  sm^esd- 
Ciivyj  -cljj  W  ''/f  fifvt^-T}.  At  h^"  marriage  -mitii  l3>e  y-ooaig  CcKOgr^^a- 
i^ff^  swn')h^:r^  Kphraiin  Wof.^dbrSdge.  i^be  becaaihe  im^ticss  of  dst- 
:}j^yUi>»r  J/udJt  an-d  f\irr/i\ht'4  by  litrr  ialber.  Tbe  happy  'visSoais  of 
iix^:  y</u«'>{  pair  ar<-  vhown  by  th-e  ]ine?  ftill  -en  the  window  pa3»e, 
*r«$^ray<r''5  by  tb<r  br3d<rj^r<x>na  on  bis  bridal  naora : 

11*31  Jia^^r  <3bi» V !  liif:  fairet-t  i^mti  tliat  <n-«-  ro«e- 

tUii  th^fr  bla/ck  cJoud  of  death  soon  obscured  his  sun.  Scarcely 
ux  y^.ar^,  ;ir\*i  pretty  Polly  Shaw  and  her  husband  lay  together  in 
iUt^  i^/iiy*%      \\\s  epitaph  says: 

'*  Zion  mav  in  hU  full  bemoan. 
A  Bcautv  and  a  Pillar  ^onc." 

On  tlKr  eabt  ^idc  of  Main  street  is  a  long,  low,  rambling  browTi 
liou>,<%  wfio»>e  closed  shutters  and  general  somnolent  air  would 
n'  V*  r  fnake  the  observer  believe  that  it  could  have  been  the  fam- 
on>,  old  I'ox  tavern,  celebrated  for  its  "  entertainment  for  man  and 
h'ii^J/'  Diagonally  opposite  is  the  old  Episcopal  parsonage. 
t  tt  (it'd  in  1745,  and  occupied  by  the  ministers  of  that  faith  for 
ns/tr  one  hundred  years.  Its  venerable  neighbor  on  the  right 
lookn  like  what  it  is,  an  old  Puritan  homestead,  which  counts  its 
birthdayH  up  to  one  hundred  and  fifty,  and  rigidly  refuses  to  adorn 
itnelf  with  any  modern  ornaments.  Just  in  front  are  three  mighty 
elmn  which  must  reckon  their  ages  by  centuries. 

A  legend  is  told  of  one  of  the  Burbeck  family  which  well  illus- 
t rates  the  fearlessness  with  which  a  bold  son  of  New  London  will 


defend  his  rights.  It  appears  that  the  sapient  selectmen  of  the 
town  had  taken  it  into  their  heads  that  the  beauty  of  the  thorough- 
fare demanded  the  sacrifice  of  one  of  the  elms,  while  the  owner  of 
the  elms,  Brig.-General  Burbeck,  had  an  opposite  opinion.  The 
selectmen  sent  him  their  commands  repeatedly,  but  the  General 
received  them  with  increasing  contempt.  At  length  the  crisis 
came.  The  selectmen  felt  that  they  must  avenge  the  outraged 
majesty  of  law  and  order,  or  remain  forever  despised.  The  gen- 
eral felt  that  to  consent  to  the  destruction  of  his  hamadryades 
would  be  to  tarnish  all  his  glory.  The  selectmen  armed  them- 
selves with  axes  and  copies  of  the -law  defining  their  powers.  The 
general  girded  himself  for  the  conflict.  It  is  doubtful  if  that  soul- 
stirring  poem,  not  infrequently  recited  by  school  boys,  "Wood- 
man, spare  that  tree,"  had  yet  been  evolved ;  it  is  pretty  certain 
that,  even  if  it  had  been,  the  general  would  have  scorned  to  waste 
its  pathos  on  the  selectmen.  He  placed  himself  in  front  of  his 
trees,  brought  his  gun  into  position,  and  as  he  ran  his  eye  along 
the  sight,  said  in  trumpet  tones : 

'*  The  first  man  that  touches  a  tree  I  will  shoot  like  a  dog !  " 

Silence  so  heavy  that  it  would  have  outweighed  boarding-house 
bread  fell  on  the  vandal  host.  The  selectmen  saw  not  the  out- 
raged majesty  of  law,  they  saw  not  the  gibing  faces  of  their  towns- 
men ;  but  they  did  sec  the  muzzle  of  the  gun,  the  gleam  of  the 
general's  eye, —  and,  realizing  that  discretion  was  far  better  than 
valor,  they  stood  not  upon  the  order  of  their  going,  but  fled  in- 
gloriously.     The  elms  still  stand. 

It  would  be  well  for  the  picturesque  beauty  of  New  London  if 
more  of  the  present  generation  were  imbued  with  some  of  the 
Burbeck  spirit.  The  elms  which  shade  sections  of  State  and 
Huntington  streets  are  glorious  trees ;  and  it  would  send  a  New 
Havener  into  spasms  of  envy  merely  to  gaze  upon  their  magnifi- 
cence of  girth  and  height;  yet  every  day  some  Goth  with  a  tune- 
less soul  arms  himself  with  his  little  hatchet,  and  in  an  hour  ruins 
what  a  hundred  years  scarce  serve  to  form. 

It  would  be  hard  to  recognize  the  old  court  house  of  1784  in  its 
gay  red  dress,  save  that  its  prime  Puritan  outlines  still  peep  out 
and  seem  to  refuse  to  be  modernized.  When  it  was  built,  it  was 
considered  a  very  elegant  structure.  It  is  square,  two  stories  in 
height,  and  is  surmounted  by  a  round  cupola.     It  is  utterly  guilt- 


less  of  ornament,  unless  a  vivid  imagination  interpret  the  modest 
pediments  over  the  windows  as  such. 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  call  attention  to  the  old  Hempstead 
house,  the  Shaw  mansion,  and  the  Nathan  Hale  school  house  on 
Union  street;  every  urchin  in  the  city  knows  their  location,  and 
every  visiting  stranger  has  "done"  them.  The  two  first  are  par- 
ticularly rich  in  recollections  and  souvenirs.  In  the  Hempstead 
house, —  one  of  the  oldest,  if  not  the  oldest  in  Connecticut,  having 
been  built  in  1643,  —  ^s  a  sky-blue  satin  waistcoat,  about  which  is 
told  a  pretty  story.  It  was  sacredly  treasured  by  the  family  who 
preserved  it  as  a  proud  memento  of  a  courtier  ancestor.  But  in 
the  days  when  New  London  was  a  great  resort  for  the  royal  navy, 
Patty  Hempstead,  having  vainly  teased  her  father  for  a  ball  dress, 
audaciously  took  her  scissors,  and  without  the  slightest  reverence 
for  her  departed  ancestor  adapted  his  gorgeous  finery  to  her  own 
plump  outlines,  and  thus  clad  doubtless  broke  many  a  sturdy 
Jack's  heart  before  the  night  was  half  gone. 

The  Shaw  mansion  is  a  spacious,  hospitable  mansion  of  lime- 
stone. It  fronts  Bank  street,  opposite  the  cove,  which  bears  the 
name  of  that  family,  once  the  ruling  maritime  spirits  of  New  Lon- 
don. Nearly  every  room  has  its  history  or  romance.  Both 
Washington  and  Lafayette  were  guests  of  the  manor,  and  prob- 
ably the  former  danced  at  the  lawn  party  given  in  his  honor. 

Ne.xt  the  Shaw  house  stands  one  which,  if  not  so  imposing,  is 
more  quaintly  picturesque ;  its  roof,  like  that  of  a  Swiss  chalet, 
descending  upon  cedar  posts  full  of  knots  and  spanned  by  antique 

Here  dwelt,  in  Revolutionary  days,  one  of  the  Christophers;  as 
stanch  a  tory  as  ever  cried  **  God  save  King  George  !  *'  He  wined 
and  dined  Benedict  Arnold  the  day  that  traitor  burned  New  Lon- 
don ;  and  scarcely  had  his  ** distinguished  guest"  departed  when 
he  saw  the  flames  rising  from  the  residence  of  his  patriot  neighbor, 
r'orgotten  were  all  differences.  Christopher  rushed  to  the  rescue. 
There  was  no  water  at  hand,  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Luckily  there 
was  a  vat  of  vinegar  in  Christopher's  out-house ;  and  with  this 
the  owner  soon  succeeded  in  subduing  the  flames.  The  Christ- 
opher house  still  bears  the  name  of  "Vinegar"  house,  from  this 

It  would  not  be  acting  fairly  toward  one  of  New  London's  most 



interesting  possessions  to  omit  a  description  of  the  burying-ground 
of  the  first  settlers. — which  stili  remains.  It  was  laid  outin  1653. 
am!  is  the  "antientc'^t"  burial  placi;  in  New  London,  and  has  been 
the  subject  of  many  times  repeated  and  minute  legislation.  It 
wa.s  solemnly  resolved  in  town  meeting,  that  "It  shall  ever  bee  for 
a  Common  Buriall  Place,  and  never  be  impropriated  by  any." 
Any  extortion  on  the  part  of  the  sexton  was  also  carefully  pro- 
vided against,  as  evinced  by  this  extract  from  the  town  records  ; 

omstock    is  chosen  to  be  gra% 
a  have  4  sliitlingB,  for  childre 

maker  for  the  town  ; 
]  shillingE  a  grave,  t 

I  be  paid  for 


"To  be  paid  for  by  survivors,"  shows  that  the  sage  council 
strongly  favored  having  the  deceased  remain  in  their  graves,  like 
decent,  well-behaved  ex-citizens,  instead  of  roaming  about,  like 
Banquo,  to  settle  up  old  scores. 

But  the  old  burial-place  did  notremain  the  sole  burying-ground, 
as  the  council  intended.  As  time  rolled  on,  and  one  after  another 
of  the  colonists  fell  beneath  its  remorseless  chariot,  they  were 
tenderly  borne  to  their  last  resting  place  almost  in  the  shadow  cast 
by  the  "meeting-house."  After  a  considerable  time  it  was  found 
to  be  too  small,  and  shortly  after  the  abandonment  of  the  old 
meeting-house,  it  was  voted  in  town  council  to  lay  out  another 
cemetery ;  but  no  action  was  taken  for  some  time.  Finally  a  sec- 
ond burial  place  was  consecrated  in  1 793,  and  thither  many  bodie'i 
were  removed  from  the  first.  In  passing,  it  may  be  said  that  this 
Second  Burying  Ground  is  about  to  be  turned  into  a  park.  The 
most  interesting  interments  within  it  were  those  of  General  Jede- 
diah  Huntington,  first  Collector  of  the  Port,  and  John  G.  C. 
Brainard,  the  poet.  No  bodies  have  been  interred  in  the  old  bury- 
ing place  for  years,  except  those  of  the  town  poor,  and  it  lias 
gradually  sunk  into  neglect;  governors,  magistrates,  ministers, 
taw-makers,  share  oblivion  alike  with  lowly  paupers, — striking 
comment  upon  the  pomp  and  pageantry  of  mortal  pride! 

The  old  cemetery  is  most  beautifully  situated  upon  an  elevated 
ridge  a  little  northwest  of  the  centre  of  the  town.  This  point  was 
selected  it  was  north  of  the  first  meeting-house.  An 
hour's  research  among  its  curious  memorials  to  forgotten  mortality 
would  well  repay  the  antiquarian. 

Here,  beneath  crumbling  stone  or  discolored  tablet,  repose  the 


"  f crt-eiatbers  c*f  the  baniteL.' — ^jadges,  dirm^.  mamrs.  Soaoc 
are  marked  i»-ith  an  bumble  slab  of  sandstime  jnsr  riang  fmsn 
tbe  grcFUXid,  the  iettertng^  c»f  tbe  quamr  ez>it294i  nearly  defaced ; 
others,  more  prerteutions,  ii-ith  marbk:  ceistre?  bearing  name,  date 

of  death,  and  a  few  v-rrse^ — ftrarfuZi-  and  viinderFnlhr  Tnadf . — set- 
ting  fvrdi  the  virtues  nevt-r  disccnrered  until  oeati  Im?  laid  iiis  cinD 
t*>uch  rtK>E  their  xK.*bV:'6-si'r. 

3u3.k  bek'w  the  tiirf.  half  coi-ered  vrth  "need?.,  a  ^eat  t^m 
tfarou^  its  s^iodle.  Iie^  the  c'ide^t  tonibstofne  ea?t  of  tbe  Cc«miect- 
icirt  rik er.  It  has  bravely  be^d  rts  own  a^am?t  thne's  ravages ;  for 
th^  l^rtterir-^  vf  name?,  dates  and  epitaph,  cir:  into  tbe  red 
^tvne.  :^  vtfll  le^r&k:.  as  fcUcni-s : 


A-^c  V-  _^  *:  truth  a  6-ie!::id  c^  r»^e«t  e?E^*l- 

T'-  Hk-^'^-ri  f7"»r2!e  a  filler  crrisrjt-nt. 
Wb.'.*  <-2.r:  "ic'-  T  to  poors  he  '■"£*  rc~t5t 

To  mirt.hiit*:*  a*  a  pa-tien:  be  mrgiit  «taad 
A-i'.  er:t--:r::iZ  danzcr*  e*-^  br  «ea  arid  Larid- 

The  hl^ly  eulogized  Richard  ift-as  captain  of  the  first  earairy 
company  organized  in  the  colony.  "Composing  paroxysms'*  is 
not  to  be  interpr'rted  as  meaning  that  he  dabbled  in  physics,  bat 
wa-  ^a^  Mi^^  Caulkins  5*jggests  K  probably  an  allusion  to  his 
happy  fa/:u!ty  of  arbitrating  disputes.  Near  the  north  end  is  tfic 
tomb  of  the  Winthrops  and  Livingstons.  The  inscription  on 
Mad^m  Winthrops  tomb  is  quite  legible.  As  is  kno^-n,  neither 
the  fir^t  or  r-econd  governors  were  buried  here.  John  Still  Win- 
throp,  grand-nephew  of  the  last  Governor  Winthrop.  died  in  1776 
at  the  beginning  of  the  revolution :  and.  as  it  was  imp>ossible  at 
that  time  to  erect  monuments,  his  body  was  placed  beneath  a 
rudf,  granite  slab  near  the  centre  of  the  ground,  beside  that  of  the 
third  minister  of  the  colony,  Simon  Bradstreet,  who  died  in  1683. 
It  was  upon  the  Winthrop  tomb  that  Arnold  viewed  the  attack 
upon  Fort  Griswold. 

The  Saltonstall  tomb,  containing  the  remains  of  Gurdon  Sakoa- 
stall,  who  abandoned  the  pulpit  for  the  gubernatorial  chair,  is  in  a 


good  state  of  preservation,  as  is  likewise  that  of  one  of  the  lords 
of  Gardiner's  Island.  There  are  innumerable  graves  of  the  Coit 
family,  though  the  writer  does  not  know  whether  the  bones  of 
Captain  Wm.  Coit  repose  in  the  old  cemetery  or  have  been 
removed.  This  brave  soldier  was  captain  of  an  independent  mili- 
tary company  organized  in  New  London  in  1775.  It  took  part  in 
the  battle  of  Bunker  Hill ;  and  Coit  soon  after  was  appointed  cap- 
tain of  the  Harrison,  a  schooner  fitted  out  in  Boston  to  cruise 
Against  the  British.  Frothingham,  in  his  ''  Siege  of  Boston,'*  says 
that  Captain  Wm.  Coit  was  **The  first  man  in  the  States  who  turned 
his  majesty's  bunting  upside  down." 

The  tomb  of  the  Brooks  family  is  sealed.  Broken,  cracked  and 
chipped  are  the  tablets  of  the  Prentis,  Deshon  (Deschamps, 
doubtless),  Avery,  and  Christophers.  More  than  two  centuries 
have  elapsed  since  the  first  of  the  proud  Christophers  was 
entombed ;  and  the  coat  of  arms  nearly  defaced,  the  sandstone 
crumbling  into  dust,  the  rank  grass  matting  itself  above  them, 
show  how  utterly  forgotten  are  the  proud  race  whose  passions 
and  pride  set  at  naught  the  ordinances  of  their  more  temperate 

Every  few  yards  one  stumbles  over  some  tiny  stone  marking  the 
resting  place  of  some  little  one  whom  Jesus  had  called  unto  Him- 
self ere  the  incorruptible  had  more  than  donned  the  garb  of 

But  some  sleep  beneath  the  sod  whose  place  of  rest  is  marked 
by  no  token  of  love  or  respect.  Perhaps  even  now  we  stand  upon 
the  grave  of  some  poor  unfortunate,  buried  with  as  little  cere- 
mony as  Tom  Hood's  pauper.  Ah,  well !  what  matters  it  to  the 
poor  wretch,  worn  out  in  the  pitiless  battle  of  life,  whether  he 
rest  at  last  beneath  **dull,  cold  marble"  in  a  minster  transept,  or 
sink,  unknellcd  and  unknown,  into  the  sleep  that  knows  not  wak- 
ing? But  Nature  hath  a  kind  remembrance.  The  few  wild  flowers, 
shedding  their  sweet  fragrance  over  their  dust,  are  a  more  touch- 
ing epitaph  than  any  hollow  mockeries  would  be,  for  those  whose 
experience  of  life  might  be  fitly  summed  up  in  the  words:  "Bub- 
ble, bubble,  toil  and  trouble." 

Verily,  the  neglect  and  desolation  of  the  place  preach  a  lesson 
of  mortality  far  more  eloquently  than  could  a  Greenwood  or  an 


Auburn.       How  forcible  and  true  the  declaration,  "  Dust  thou  art^ 
and  unto  dust  shalt  thou  return  ! " 

From  the  cemetery  is  a  most  beautiful  view.  Behind  is  a  pla- 
teau thickly  covered  with  houses  against  a  background  of  dark, 
green  hills ;  on  the  left,  a  continuation  of  the  same  ridge,  crowned 
with  picturesque  homes ;  to  the  right  stretches  away  the  whole 
town,  with  here  and  there  a  slender  spire  rising  above  the  sur- 
rounding house-tops ;  in  front,  the  entire  slope  down  to  the  water's 
edge,  with  its  fringe  of  warehouses  and  factories,  the  noble  river 
intersecting  the  two  shores,  —  its  broad  surface  glowing  with  a 
thousand  hues  beneath  the  setting  sun ;  the  historic  hills  of  Gro- 
ton,  their  dark  green  foliage  crimsoning  with  the  first  tintings  of 
autumn,  the  grim,  gray  monument  of  brave  Ledyard  and  his  fel- 
low-martrys,  and  over  all  the  calm,  blue  sky,  flecked  with  fleecy 
white;  the  sun  sinking  slowly  behind  a  mass  of  amber  and  purple 
and  crimson  and  gold, —  all  forming  a  whole  not  easily  forgotten. 

Everything  spoke  of  peace  and  rest.  A  great  calm  seemed  to 
fall  upon  the  city  of  the  dead,  and  something  of  the  peace  which 
passeth  all  understanding  entered  into  the  troubled  heart. 

The  sun  sank  low  behind  the  western  hills,  a  black  cloud  passed 
over  it;  all  was  dark  and  cheerless.  An  instant,  and  it  burst 
forth  again  in  a  blaze  of  transcendent  splendor,  and  shed  a  halo 
of  light  over  the  old  crumbling  stones.  Slowly  the  rays  fade 
away,  lingering  tenderly  on  the  forgotten  graves,  until  the  soft 
creeping  twilight  came  and  wrapped  the  earth  in  its  clinging  gray 






Old  Johnny  Kline  !  As  I  write  the  words  the  venerable 
form  of  the  Tunker  preacher  comes  before  me  as  I  have  seen  him 
a  thousand  times  in  my  childhood,  as  I  saw  him  the  day  before  he 

He  always  wore  the  blue  homespun  garments  which  are  the 
uniform  of  the  Tunker  brethren,  made  after  the  quaint  fashion  of 
their  German  forefathers,  every  piece,  from  the  flax-linen  shirt  to 
the  cut-away  coat,  spun  and  woven  by  the  thrifty  women  of  their 
orderly  community.  His  shoes,  tied  with  stout  leather  strings, 
were  home-made,  too, — probably  he  made  them  himself.  Only  the 
broad-brimmed  felt  hat,  universal  among  the  Tunkers,  but  pur- 
chased from  some  Gentile  merchant,  betrayed  the  slightest  conces- 
sion to  the  progress  of  manufactures. 

The  old  man  was  of  somewhat  thick-set  frame,  scarcely  reaching 
the  medium  height;  his  long,  white  hair,  parted  in  the  middle,  fell 
over  his  shoulders  in  silvery  locks,  his  blue  eyes  beamed  with 
kindly  intelligence,  and  there  was  altogether  about  him  an  air  of 
peace  and  serenity,  seeming  to  lift  him  above  the  world  of  strife 
in  which  ordinary  mortals  dwell,  irresistibly  reminding  one  of  the 
disciple  "  whom  Jesus  loved."  There  was  something  almost  fem- 
inine in  his  gentle  presence,  and  fierce  indeed  must  have  been  the 
nature,  which  coming  in  contact  with  him,  did  not  feel  his  calm,. 
sweet  influence. 

We  all  knew  the  little  romance  which  had  cast  its  shadow  over 
his  life,  and  sincerely  respected  the  old  man  for  the  patience  with 
which  his  heavy  burden  was  borne. 

When  quite  young,  as  is  customary  with  his  people,  he  married 
the  maiden  of  his  choice,  the  union  being  approved  by  his  friend* 
and  neighbors  as  entirely  suitable  in  every  respect. 

l*he  damsel  was  one  of  the  simple-hearted  girls  of  his  religious: 

142  70HSSY  KLINE, 

community,  near  his  own  age,  fair  to  look  upon,  and  well  endowed 
with  worldly  goods,  as  was  also  the  young  husband. 

He  had  already  felt  a  call  to  preach,  and  annually  attended  the 
gatherings  of  his  society,  which  met  in  rotation  at  some  point  in 
the  various  States  where  the  Tunkers  had  made  settlements,  ex- 
tending from  the  far  Northwest  to  Tennessee. 

Soon  after  the  young  couple  had  commenced  their  primitive 
housekeeping  on  the  rich  bottom  lands  lying  along  one  of  the 
creeks  tributary  to  the  Shenandoah,  the  Tunker  Conference  was 
appointed  to  meet  at  the  extreme  southern  settlement  of  the 
order,  and  Johnny  Kline  prepared  to  attend  the  meeting,  leaving 
his  wife  in  charge  of  the  household  gear  and  farm-stock. — a  posi- 
tion for  which  almost  every  German- American  girl  is  well-fitted 
by  her  early  training. 

Travelling  was  slow  work  fifty  years  ago,  and  this  journey, 
necessitating  a  long  separation,  seemed  a  very  serious  thing  to  the 
young  wife,  especially  as  her  spouse  announced  his  intention  of 
making  part  of  his  trip  on  the  Mississippi  steamboat,  then  but 
recently  introduced. 

At  the  appointed  time  Johnny  Kline  and  the  other  delegates 
to  the  conference  from  the  valley  churches  set  out  upon  their 
southward  journey,  brethren  from  communities  along  the  route 
from  time  to  time  joining  the  party  on  the  way. 

At  regular  intervals  letters  reached  the  anxious  young  frau  in 
her  lonely  home  telling  of  a  prosperous  journey,  and  at  last  a 
missive  from  the  absent  loved  one  stated,  that  on  a  certain  day 
near  at  hand  Johnny  Kline  and  his  fellows  would  take  the  steamer 
(the  name  of  which  was  mentioned^  at  a  landing  place  in  Ten- 

A  few  days  later  our  whole  district  was  startled  by  the  announce- 
ment that  the  steamer  on  which  the  Tunkers  were  to  take  passage 
had  been  blown  up  and  all  on  board  had  perished. 

Close  upon  this  evil  report  came  reliable  information  that  the 
prudent  brethren,  ever  cautious  in  their  dealings  with  men,  and 
never  disposed  to  tempt  Providence  by  a  display  of  faith  amount- 
ing to  assurance,  had  taken  counsel  together  on  the  eve  of  entering 
the  steamer,  and  decided  not  to  trust  the  swift  sailing  boat  and 
treacherous  waters,  but  to  pursue  their  way  by  land  on  the  stout 
horses  which  had  borne  them  safely  thus  far  on  the  journey. 


The  relief  of  the  whole  country-side  was  great,  for  the  worthy 
Tunkers  are  universally  respected  and  highly  valued  as  citizens, 
even  by  those  who  ridicule  their  queer  customs  and  costumes  ;  but 
to  Johnny  Kline's  fair  young  bride  the  fatal  message  had  come 
like  the  deadly  blast  which  withers  flower  and  bud.  No  word  of 
cheer  was  henceforth  to  reach  that  palsied  brain,  no  smile  of  hope 
was  ever  again  to  brighten  the  trembling  lip,  the  wandering  eye. 
of  the  maniac. 

When  Johnny  Kline,  hastily  recalled  from  the  conference, 
reached  the  home  he  had  left  so  peaceful  and  calm,  lighted  by 
the  presence  of  his  first  and  only  love,  only  the  wild  cry  of  the 
terrified  creature,  from  whom  reason  had  forever  flown,  greeted 
his  return, — only  the  senseless  chatter  of  insanity  fell  upon  his  ear 
in  place  of  the  tender  welcome  to  which  he  had  looked  forward. 

The  best  medical  advice  was  employed,  every  remedy  known  to 
science  was  tried,  but  all  was  in  vain.  The  only  glimmer  of  in- 
telligence which  ever  repaid  the  loving  care  of  the  heart  that 
mourned  its  shattered  treasure,  was  a  faint  softening  in  the  aspect 
of  wild  terror  in  the  crazed  wife,  when  her  husband,  unchanged 
in  his  gentle  bearing,  unwearied  in  his  loving  attention,  approached 

To  all  others,  she  was  from  the  moment  the  direful  tidings 
reached  her.  fierce,  wild,  uncontrollable,  but  never  wholly  so  with 
him,  and  as  soon  as  this  became  clear  to  Johnny  Kline  and  his 
friends,  the  young  man  consecrated  himself  to  his  life-work. 

All  his  advisers,  even  the  nearest  relatives  of  his  wife,  urged  that 
the  patient,  whom  the  most  skillful  pliy.sicians  pronounced  incur- 
ably insane,  should  be  removed  to  an  asylum,  and  closely  confined 
lest  she  should  injure  herself  and  others. 

Johnny  Kline,  however,  listened  to  no  such  counsellors,  but 
thenceforth  constituted  himself  his  wife's  chief  nurse  and  attendant. 
lie  employed  able  and  skilful  assistants,  and  made  every  arrange- 
ment for  the  comfort  and  care  of  the  afflicted  one,  that  intelligent 
afl'ection  could  suggest. 

Johnny  Kline's  farm  and  household  business  were  diligently 
attended  to  under  the  supervision  of  the  owner  by  the  faithful 
helpers,  who  never  seem  to  be  wanting  in  Tunker  families.  In 
such  establishments  social  distinctions  are   little   heeded,  and  the 


1 44  yOHNN  V  KLINE, 

prosperous  householder  shares  with  the  humble  assistant  the  toils 
of  the  day,  the  pleasures  of  the  well-spread  board,  the  comforts  of 
the  hearthstone,  and  the  privileges  of  the  sanctuary,  never  by  word 
or  look  reminding  those  less  favored  by  fortune  than  himself  that 
between  him  and  them  a  great  gulf  lies,  only  to  be  bridged  by 

For  more  than  thirty  years  the  sowing  and  reaping,  the  spinning^ 
and  weaving,  the  milking  and  churning  had  been  going  on  steadily 
on  Johnny  Kline's  rich  bottom  lands. 

Still  restless  and  excited,  the  maniac  paced  the  apartments 
assigned  to  her,  while,  ever  and  anon,  wild  screams  and  plaintive 
cries  from  that  storm-tossed  breast  sounded  in  strange  discord- 
ance above  the  hum  of  patient  industry  in  the  otherwise  peaceful 

As  time  went  on,  the  Tunker  preacher  pursued  the  even  tenor 
of  his  way,  looking  carefully  to  the  ways  of  his  household,  sooth- 
ing the  unhappy  creature,  who  was  for  a  moment  calmed  into 
quietness  by  his  voice  and  touch,  visitifig  the  sick  and  distressed,, 
and  annually  attending  the  Conference  of  his  church,  whether  it 
met  amid  the  wide  prairies  of  Illinois  or  the  fertile  lands  of  Ten- 

As  the  years  passed  by  and  his  dark  locks  grew  silvery  white^ 
the  old  man  almost  unconsciously  to  himself,  became  a  great 
authority  among  his  people,  and  a  highly  esteemed  citizen 
throughout  the  region  where  he  was  known.  His  voice  was  ever 
for  peace,  and  his  opinion,  always  gently  given  after  due  consider- 
ation of  the  subject  in  discussion,  usually  determined  any  disputed 
question  among  the  brethren.  Gradually  he  had  come  to  practice 
medicine  in  his  simple  fashion,  relying  upon  herbs  and  household 
articles  for  remedies,  and  was  sent  for  far  and  wide  in  cases  of 
sickness  among  the  Tunkers  and  country  folk  around  him. 

When  the  war  began,  his  calm  face,  although  a  trifle  graver^ 
altered  little,  and  his  manner  displayed  no  excitement.  His  peo- 
ple were  everywhere  devoted  unionists,  but  they  were  by  faith 
non-combatants,  and  the  gentle  preacher  urged  them  constantly 
to  avoid  taking  part  in  any  way  in  the  national  struggle,  and 
advised  them  to  submit  patiently  to  inevitable  depredations  from 
soldiers  of  either  side,  who  might  be  in  possession  of  the  country. 


Johnny  Kline's  character  was  so  well  known  that  he  had  little 
difficulty  at  any  time  in  obtaining  permits  to  go  and  come  as  he 
chose  from  the  commanders  of  both  Federal  and  Confeder- 
ate armies,  simply  giving  his  promise  to  carry  no  information  of 
military  affairs  beyond  the  lines. 

Up  to  the  autumn  of  1864  he  had  never  failed  to  attend  the 
autumnal  gatherings  of  his  church  unmolested,  always  riding  the 
shaggy  pony  which  had  carried  its  gentle  master  twenty-five  thou- 
sand miles  in  his  journeyings,  and  was  almost  as  well  known 
among  the  Tunker  settlement  as  the  white  locks  and  serene  fea- 
tures of  its  owner. 

My  grandfather  had  been  through  a  long  life  the  legal  adviser 
of  the  Germans  of  our  district,  who  as  far  as  possible  avoid 
litigation  and  rarely  appear  in  the  courts,  unless  to  transact  the 
forms  necessary  to  the  ownership  and  conveyance  of  property. 
My  father  had  inherited  this  law  business  as  naturally  as  the 
landed  estate  bequeathed  to  him  by  will,  and  had  always  cherished 
a  strong  attachment  for  the  worthy  people  who  lived  among  us, 
but  were  not  of  us,  being  always  kindly  regarded  by  them,  and  a 
welcome  guest  in  their  quiet  homes. 

For  Johnny  Kline,  whom  he  had  known  from  his  earliest  years, 
he  had  ever  felt  respect  amounting  to  veneration.  After  the  troubles 
of  the  country  began,  many  were  the  consultations  held  between 
my  father  and  the  good  old  man  in  regard  to  the  welfare  of  his 
people,  towards  whom  he  felt  a  fatherly  interest  and  who  now 
seemed,  from  their  neutral  position,  beset  with  trials  and  difficul- 
ties on  all  sides. 

It  was  after  one  of  these  consultations,  that  my  father  went  to 
Richmond  and  procured  the  passage  of  a  bill  releasing  the  mem- 
bers of  the  Tunker  Church  from  military  duty  on  payment  of  a 
fine  of  five  hundred  dollars.  He  met  with  little  opposition  in  his 
plan,  the  Confederacy  at  that  time  being  more  in  need  of  money 
than  of  men. 

Old  Johnny  Kline  and  his  pony  were  so  familiar  in  the  sight  of 
our  household,  that  it  created  no  surprise  when  one  pleasant,  sun- 
shiny day  in  September,  1864,  the  Tunker  preacher  appeared  at 
our  gate  and  said  he  wished  to  see  father.  Papa  was  at  home  and 
cordially  welcomed  his  old  friend,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  some 


Thoughtless  as  we  young  folks  were,  we  could  but  feel  the  con- 
trast between  this  quiet  visitor,  with  his  quaint  garments  and 
gentle  ways,  and  the  noisy  men  of  war  who  were  alwa\'s  coming 
and  going  with  their  military-  trappings  in  those  stormy  da^. 

Tlie  old  man's  countenance  beamed  with  the  peace  that  passeth 
understanding  as  he  greeted  us  all  by  our  Christian  names,  such 
being  the  custom  among  his  people.  He  inquired  kindly  after  the 
health  of  the  family  and  gave  me,  as  the  eldest  and  the  house- 
keeper, a  package  of  dried  golden-rod,  saying  he  knew  "store- 
goods  were  scarce  now  and  women-folks  liked  something  to  make 
tea  of."  Diving  into  the  depths  of  his  capacious  pockets,  he 
drew  out  a  hank  of  blue  flax  thread,  grown,  spun  and  dyed  on  his 
farm,  and  several  fine  apples — ^to  the  cultivation  of  which  he  paid 
much  attention.  These  he  offered  to  my  sisters,  and  after  a 
little  quiet  smiling  talk  with  us  he  said  he  wished  to  speak  with 
father  alone  and  we  left  them  together.  There  was  nothing  in 
our  visitor's  manner  to  excite  apprehension,  and  having  other 
interests  to  occupy  our  attention,  we  thought  no  more  of  the  old 
man,  who  remained  long  engaged  in  earnest  conversation  with 
father,  and  then  departed  as  quietly  as  he  had  come. 

Later  in  the  dav  father  told  us  Johnnv  Kline  had  come  to  warn 
him  that  the  lives  of  Union  men  were  no  longer  safe  in  that  region 
and  to  urge  him  to  go  at  once  to  the  north.  He  h;id  given  father 
the  names  of  several  men,  notorious  for  their  evil  and  reckleiB 
lives  before  the  war,  who  were  said  to  have  banded  themselves 
together  to  clear  the  country  of  Unionists.  Father  said  he  had 
told  the  old  man  that  he  did  not  consider  his  life  in  any  danger, 
as  he  believed  the  fact  of  his  havin^^  a  son-in-law  in  the  southern 
service,  as  well  as  many  other  friends  and  relatives  in  high  posi- 
tion in  the  Confederacy,  would  be  a  safe-guard  for  him.  Father 
said  he  had  in  turn  warned  his  friendly  adviser  against  going  long 
distances  from  home  alone,  and  urged  him  to  great  carefulness  in 
all  his  movements. 

The  old  man  had  said  he  felt  no  anxiety  on  his  own  account 
and  hoped  he  should  never  shrink  from  the  call  of  duty,  wherever 
the  summons  might  lead  him. 

About  noon  the  next  day,  a  young  countryman  in  Tunkcr  dras 
rode  hastih'  uj>  to  the  door,  thrust  a  paper  intf>  father's  hand,  and 

70/-f.VXy  Kf.LVE, 

rode  off  as  rapidly  as  \k  came.  Wc  were  looking  afttr  his 
retreating  form  with  some  curiosity  from  an  upper  window,  when 
we  heard  father  sobbing  and  weeping  aloud  in  the  room  below  us. 

We  all  rushed  down  stairs  and  found  father  walking  up  and 
down  the  floor  in  great  agitation,  his  breast  heaving  with  sobs,  as 
great  tears  rolled  unheeded  down  his  checks.  In  answer  to  our 
excited  questions,  father  told  us  that  information  had  been  sent 
him  that  Johnny  Kline,  while  on  his  way  to  visit  a  sick  neighbor 
that  morning,  had  been  murdered  in  cold  blood  by  four  masked 
ruffians,  who  had  galloped  off  as  soon  as  their  wicked  work  was 
done.  A  countryman,  passing  that  way,  had  come  upon  the  old 
man's  body  lying  in  the  road,  beside  his  horse,  with  four  bullet- 
holes  in  his  chest,  his  long,  white  locks  clustered  about  the  calm 
face,  which  wore  its  habitual  look  of  heavenly  peace,  a  faint  smile 
resting  upon  the  lips, — the  eyes  gently  closed,  as  if  in  sleep. 

"  A  more  cruel  murder  has  not  been  committed  since  John  the 
Baptist  was  beheaded,"  said  my  father,  as  we  all  sat  weeping  over 
the  story  so  common  in  human  annais  since  the  days  of  Abel,  of 
the  innocent  life  of  the  holy  one  taken  by  the  hands  of  evil  men, 
who  but  lack  the  bodily  form  to  make  Ihem  beasts  of  prey. 

Loving  hands  carried  the  body  of  John  Kline  to  his  home  and 
tenderly  prepared  him  for  his  last  resting-place.  In  his  pockets 
were  found  permits  signed  by  Stonewall  Jackson  and  the  officer 
then  commanding  the  Federal  forces  in  the  Valley,  for  the  old 
man  to  attend  the  meetings  of  his  religious  order,  as  he  had 
done  for  more  than  fifty  years.  Tenderly  and  reverently  his 
remains  were  committed  to  the  earth  by  the  people  of  his  com- 
munity, who,  too  true  to  the  teachings  of  their  murdered  leader  to 
cherish  thoughts  of  revenge  for  his  death,  patiently  and  with  sor- 
rowful hearts,  went  about  their  accustomed  tasks. 

After  the  funeral,  Johnny  Kline's  will  was  opened,  and  it  was 
found  that,  faithful  to  his  life-work,  he  had  made  every  possible 
arrangement  for  the  care  and  comfort  of  his  afflicted  wife.  His 
valuable  property  was  committed  to  the  brethren  of  the  Tunkcr 
church  wholly  for  her  benefit,  and  explicit  directions  given  that 
nothing  on  the  place  should  be  disturbed  during  her  life.  Careful 
directions  were  given  for  the  management  of  the  estate  and  minute 
details  entered  into  in  regard  to  caring  for  the  unfortunate  woman 


to  whom  his  life  had  been  devoted.  After  his  wife's  death,  the 
will  directed  that  the  property  should  be  equally  divided  between 
his  own  and  his  wife's  relations.  The  old  man's  will  was  faithfully 
carried  out  by  the  worthy  brethren,  and  the  afflicted  woman  lived 
for  several  years  after  the  close  of  the  war,  to  whose  bitter  pas- 
sions her  saintly  husband  had  been  sacrificed. 

Although  the  assassins  who  so  cruelly  murdered  the  innocent 
old  man  were  masked,  there  was  no  doubt  in  the  community  as  to 
the  names  of  the  ruffians  who  had  committed  the  brutal  deed. 

Indeed,  it  was  said  that  at  the  time  they  did  not  hesitate  to  boast 
of  what  they  had  done,  professing  to  believe  that  John  Kline  had 
given  information  beyond  Confederate  lines,  detrimental  to  the 
southern  cause,  then  approaching  its  death  struggle,  and  declared 
it  a  warning  to  other  Unionists  that  a  like  fate  awaited  them. 

The  murder  of  John  Kline  was  reported  at  Washington  with  the 
names  of  the  men  believed  to  be  the  murderers,  and  a  reward  of 
a  thousand  dollars  was  at  once  offered  for  their  apprehension.  A 
few  months  later  came  the  collapse  of  the  Confederacy ;  and  the 
assassins  of  John  Kline,  accused  of  many  crimes  besides  his 
death,  abhorred  by  their  neighbors  and  every  brave  man  con- 
nected with  the  cause  they  pretended  to  ser\'e  by  dark  and  cow- 
ardly deeds,  pursued  by  the  avenger  of  blood,  and  doubtless 
haunted  by  the  innocent  and  gentle  form  of  the  Tunker  preacher, 
so  cruelly  slain,  fled  from  their  native  place  and  sought  to  hide 
themselves  among  the  outlaws  of  the  frontier.  It  is  somewhat 
remarkable  that  three  of  the  ruffians  engaged  in  the  murder  of 
Johnny  Kline,  met  violent  deaths, — the  fourth  wandering  restlessly 
to  and  fro  upon  the  earth,  seeking  rest  and  finding  none.  At  last, 
weary  and  worn,  he  returned  to  his  home  in  the  fair  valley  of  Vir- 
ginia, no  longer  the  scene  of  deadly  conflict,  but  smiling  once 
more  in  peace  and  plenty,  and  resumed  his  place  among  his  kin- 
dred. As  he  had  anticipated,  no  effort  was  made  by  the  peace- 
loving  Tunkers  to  have  him  prosecuted  for  the  foul  murder  laid  to 
his  charge.  Finding  difficulty  in  securing  emplo3'ment  among  his 
former  neighbors,  he  finally  went  to  one  of  the  old  Union  men  of 
the  district,  at  that  time  holding  office  under  the  Government,  and 
expressing  deep  regret  for  his  past  life,  and  a  desire  to  live  honest- 
ly tor  the  future,  he  sought  and  obtained  occupation  as  a  deputy*- 


marshal  in  the  revenue  service,  in  which  he  was  at  last  accounts 
an  efficient  officer. 

The  industrious  and  law-abiding  Tunker  people  of  the  Shenan- 
doah Valley  suffered  greatly  in  the  sorrowful  days  of  the  civil 
war.  After  the  death  of  Johnny  Kline,  to  whom  they  looked  as 
their  guide  and  protector,  many  of  them  gathered  their  families 
and  such  movables  as  they  could  take  with  them  in  their  farm 
wagons,  and  leaving  their  well-cultivated  farms  and  comfortable 
dwellings  in  the  valley,  sought  refuge  from  the  storms'  of  war 
among  their  religious  communities,  which  included  many  of  their 
kindred  in  the  far  west.  Some  of  them  found  homes  in  that  dis- 
tant region,  but  most  of  them  returned  after  the  declaration  of 
peace  between  the  divided  sections,  to  their  Virginia  farms. 
Quietly  and  steadily  they  resumed  their  old-time  occupations, 
re-building  barns  and  fences,  and  gradually  restoring  the  appear- 
ance of  thrift  and  comfort  to  their  desolate  homesteads. 

A  memorial  to  Congress,  setting  forth  the  losses  from  Federal 
soldiers  by  a  long  list  of  loyal  citizens,  which  embraced  many  of 
the  harsh-sounding  names  of  the  German  people  of  the  valley, 
was  favorably  acted  upon,  and  the  patient  Tunkers  were  gladdened 
by  a  large  amount  of  money,  which  came  to  them  most  oppor- 

They  had  always  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  Confeder- 
ate money,  and  avoided  all  transactions  which  could  not  be 
settled  in  gold,  but  showed  no  objection  whatever  to  receiving  the 
greenbacks  offered  by  the  Government  as  indemnity  for  their 
losses  in  bellum  days. 

Among  the  Tunker  communities  throughout  the  Union  the 
memory  of  gentle  old  Johnny  Kline  will  ever  be  revered,  and  the 
example  of  his  patient,  faithful  life  will  be  held  up  for  emulation 
among  his  people.  To-day  in  all  that  region  ** Johnny  Kline**  is 
spoken  softly  as  the  household  word  —  of  one  whom  God  has 




"  If  I  can  help  it,  this  summer  shall  not  pass  without  my  seeing" 
Plymouth,"  said  Mr.  Gordon  decidedly,  as  he  and  his  family  were 
talking  over  some  places  for  their  annual  summer  visit. 

*' Plymouth,  Massachusetts?*'  asked  his  wife  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  Plymouth,  Massachusetts.  Our  old  pilgrim  Plymouth. 
No  wonder  you  are  surprised  after  what  I've  said ;  but  I  don't 
mean  to  give  another  Englishman  a  chance  to  humiliate  me  as  that 
one  did  last  week.  He  looked  perfectly  astonished  when  I  said  I 
had  never  been  there,  —  and  I  a  descendant  of  a  Pilgrim,  too." 

"Why  didn't  you  invite  him  home  to  see  mother?"  merrily- 
inquired  his  daughter  Bessie. 

"  That's  so,"  cried  Tom  with  a  roguish  look  at  his  mother. 
"  She  could  have  talked  him  blind  on  the  subject,  for  she  knows- 
everything  in  the  town,  and  for  all  I  know,  has  kissed  everything 
in  Pilgrim  Hall.  I  know  she  has  kissed  the  Rock, — she  told  me 
so,"  he  added  mischievously. 

"Now,  Tom,"  replied  his  mother,  amused  at  his  keen  percep- 
tion of  what  she  herself  called  her  weakness  for  historical  things. 
"  If  there  is  a  spot  in  this  world  worthy  of  the  kiss  of  every 
American,  it  is  the  rock  which  first  felt  the  feet  of  the  noble  pion- 
eers who  sacrificed  everything  for  the  liberty  we  now  enjoy." 

"But  how  many  times  have  you  been  there,  wife?"  interrupted 
Mr.  Gordon.     "I've  forgotten." 

"None  too  many,"  she  replied.  "The  first  time,  you  remember, 
was  just  after  my  return  from  Europe.  I  wanted  you  to  go  then, 
but  you  only  laughed  at  the  idea  of  taking  so  much  trouble  to  see 
old  chairs,  tables,  shoes  and  what  not.  You  said  you'd  go  if  you 
could  see  the  men  to  whom  they  belonged.  But  I  went  to  atone 
for  my  thoughtlessness  in  going  to  see  the  chief  historical  spots 
of  foreign  lands  before  I  had  seen  the  very  first  one  of  my  own. 
Then,  several  times,  as  you  know,  I  have  entertained  guests  histor- 
ically inclined,  by  taking  this  day's  trip  with  them.       Bessie  went 

>Se€  "Ten  Days  in  Nantucket"   (VoL  III, No.  3),  and  "A  Trip  around  Cape  Ann"   (Vol. 
IV,  No.  :i). 



once  with  me  and  enjoyed  it,  too.  Bui,  Tom,"  looking  fondly  at 
him,  "  was  like  his  father,  and  wouldn't  turn  his  hand  over,  he  said, 
to  see  all  the  old  truck  in  the  world.     He" — 

"A  chip  of  the  old  block,"  interposed  Mr.  Gordon,  laughingly. 
"  But  go  on,  dear.     I  should  not  have  interrupted." 

"All  I  was  going  to  say,  was,"  she  continued,  "that  I  should  be 
glad  to  go  again  if  you  three  would  go  too.  1  know  the  town  so 
well  now  that  no  time  would  be  lost  in  hunting  up  places,  so  we 
could  see  much  in  a  days  trip." 

"Come,  let's  go,"  cried  Tom.     "Mother  will  be  a  boss  leader." 

"Yes,"  added  Mr.  Gordon,  emphatically.  "Tom  and  I  will  take 
back  all  we've  said  by  escorting  you  and  Bessie  to  Plymouth  the 
first  pleasant  cool  day." 

Thus  it  happened  that  on  the  beautiful  morning  of  May  18, 
1 886,  the  Gordon  family  were  on  the  8.15  train  from  Boston  on 
the  Old  Colony  road,  en  route  for  Plymouth. 

"The  old  town  is  picking  up  considerably,  I  understand,"  said 
Mr.  Gordon,  the  rather  uninteresting  country  through  which  they 
were  passing  not  holding  his  attention.  '•  I  saw  the  other  day  that 
the  production  of  its  manufactories  amounts  to  nearly  four  million 
dollars  annually,  one  million  five  hundred  thousand  of  which  is 
produced  in  cordage,  duck  and  woollen  cloth  alone.  That's  a 
pretty  good  show.  I  should  like  to  take  some  of  the  old  pilgrims 
round  with  us  to-day  and  show  them  their  old  home.  By  the  way, 
what  is  the  population  of  the  place  now?"  and  he  looked  enquir- 
ingly at  each  one  of  his  family. 

No  answer  coming  from  Tom  or  Bessie,  Mrs.  Gordon  informed 
■him  by  saying  "About  eight  thousand.  Of  course  there  are  a 
great  many  more  in  the  warm  season.  Almost  thirty  thousand 
strangers  visited  it  last  summer.  It  is  growing  more  and  more  a 
place  for  summer  residence." 

The  silence  of  the  journey  was  occasionally  broken  in  upon  by 
.some  such  general  information  concerning  the  town.  At  last  Mrs. 
Gordon  called  their  attention  to  a  pretty  seaside  on  their  left,  add- 

"We  are  almost  at  Plymouth  now.  See  what  a  fine  view  of  the 
ocean!  Those  works  over  there  on  the  right,"  turning  to  her 
husband,  "are  those  of  the  Plymouth  Cordage  company." 

"Ah!"  he  returned.     "  They  have  a  good  reputation.     Theyare 

152  A  DA  V'S  TRIP  TO  PL  YMOUTH, 

the  larj^cst  and  most  complete  of  the  kind  in  the  land,  if  not  in 
the  world, — established  as  far  back  as  1824.** 

*'()  look  at  that!  '*  broke  in  Tom,  pointing  in  the  distance  to 
the  right.  *' There's  the  monument.  Look,  Bess,  isn't  that  fine 
though?  Just  like  that  bronze  model  in  our  church  parlor,  isn't 

**Yes,"  replied  Bessie,  looking  over  to  it.  "What  a  beautiful 
welcome  it  gives  to  all  who  visit  the  town,  standing  as  it  does  on 
that  commanding  hill.  How  effective  that  figure  of  Faith  is  I 
When  mother  told  me  it  was  two  hundred  and  sixteen  times  life- 
size,  I  could  hardly  believe  it." 

*'I  had  to  learn  the  statistics  about  it,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Gordon, 
"to  make  me  realize  its  great  size.  It  is  said  to  be  the  largest 
stone  statue  in  the  world.  The  total  length  of  its  arm  is  nineteen 
feet  ten  and  one-half  inches,  the  wrist  is  four  feet  around  and  the 
length  of  the  finger  pointing  upwards  is  two  feet  one  inch,  and 
one  foot  eight  and  one-half  inches  around." 

"It  takes  mother  to  remember  facts,"  rejoined  Tom.  "Come, 
don't  stop  yet,"  and  he  smiled  roguishly  at  her. 

•*I  wish  I  could  remember  them  as  she  does,"  added  Bessie, 
"All  I  can  remember  is  that  it  is  thirty-six  feet  high." 

"Now  it's  your  turn,  pa,"  continued  Tom.  "What  do  you 
remember?     What  is  your  contribution?" 

"I  was  thinking/'  slowly  answered  Mr.  Gordon,  "what  a  splen- 
did monument  it  was  for  Oliver  Ames ;  better  than  any  he  could 
have  had  over  his  grave,  for  it  casts  a  blessing  over  the  whole 
nation.  That  was  a  splendid  gift,"  he  continued,  meditatively.  "A 
good  thirty  thousand  dollars — that  cost.  He  honored  his  native 
riymouth  by  such  an  act»  as  well  as  Easton,  his  adopted  home." 

"  Hut,  hero  we  are  at  the  stcition,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon.  "We've 
boon  about  an  hour  and  a  half  coming  from  Boston.  If  we  take 
the  3.30  train  back,  as  I  plan  to  do,  we  will  have  a  good  five  hours 
and  a  half  to  look  around," 

•'  Now,  where  shall  we  go  first?"  enquired  Mr.  Gordon,  as  they 
all  loft  iho  station.  " Come,  wife,**  he  added  merrily,  "you're  boss 
t^vdav.     We  will  all  follow  vou." 

"  I  wish  first,"  answered  she,  "to  go  through  this  little  park  to  thq 
Samoset  1  louse." 


**  I  suppose  you  take  to  that  house  because  of  its  name/'  said 

**  The  name  did  attract  me,  I  confess,"  she  replied.  "  It  always 
attracts  those  who  are  interested  in  our  Indian  history.  I  have 
always  felt  grateful  to  the  Old  Colony  corporation  for  naming  it 
so  when  they  built  it,  forty-one  years  ago.  But  then  it's  a  good 
hotel  aside  from  its  name.  Only  last  week  I  came  across  a  letter 
of  William  Cullen  Bryant's,  in  which  he  speaks  of  stopping  at 
this  same  house  in  August,  1874,  calling  it  a  **very  nice  hotel." 
He  also  said  —  what  I  had  never  known  before,  —  that  it  was  at 
Plymouth  he  was  admitted  to  the  practice  of  law  some  fifty-nine 
years  before.  Speaking  of  him  reminds  me  that  you'll  find 
the  names  of  many  prominent  people  registered  on  the  hotel 
books.  I  looked  over  some  of  them  when  I  was  here  last.  All 
of  the  books  have  been  saved  except  the  first  year's." 

'*  I  was  with  you  then,"  interrupted  Bessie.  "  I  remember  see- 
ing the  names  of  Daniel  Webster,  Edward  Everett,  N.  P.  Willis^ 
Prescott,  and  others." 

"Daniel  Webster  often  came  over  from  Marshfield,"  said  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "But  here  we  are  at  the  hotel,  where  we  will  go  in  and 
rest  a  minute  or  two.  After  we  have  seen  all  there  is  in  one  end 
of  the  town  (and  that  includes  all  but  the  monument),  we  will 
come  back  here,  say,  not  later  than  two  o'clock,  perhaps  before, 
for  our  dinner,  and  after  that  we  will  visit  the  monument.  There 
will  then  be  just  time  enough  left  to  catch  the  train  I  spoke  of." 

Acting  upon  this  plan  they  started  presently  on  their  sight-see- 
ing, going  first  to  Pilgrim  Hall  on  Court  street,  only  a  few  minute's 
walk  from  the  hotel. 

The  heraldic  curtains  of  the  iron  fence  on  the  northerly  side  of 
the  building,  containing  the  names  of  the  forty-one  signers  of  the 
Compact,  so  interested  Tom  that  he  was  led  to  read,  on  the  stone 
slab  which  the  fence  enclosed,  the  text  of  the  Compact  itself.  He 
quietly  acknowledged  to  Bessie  that  it  was  more  interesting  than 
he  thought  it  would  be. 

Upon  entering  the  building  they  paused  with  their  father  to 
read  the  inscription  upon  the  tablet  of  Tennessee  marble  which 
guards  the  entrance.     It  was  as  follows : 

154  A  VAV'S  TRIP  70  PLYMOUTH. 


BlILT   A.    D..    1824, 
BY    THE 


RE-BIILT    A-    1)..    1880. 



*•  Forefathers  I  "  ejaculated  Bessie.  '*\Vhy  didn't  they  say  Pil- 
grims ;   that  would  have  included  the  heroic  women." 

**They  might  have  added  foremothers/'  said  Tom,  slyly. 

**  O,  that  is  perfectly  horrid,*'  responded  Bessie.  "  I  hate  both 
words.  But  I  never  did  think  enough  was  made  of  the  brave  wo- 
men who  suffered  so  much.  They  are  not  included  in  the  fore- 
fathers." she  added  emphatically.  **They  had  a  separate  life  and 
work.     Thevwerc" — 

**  Look  at  this,  children,"  called  Mrs.  Gordon  from  the  aote^ 
room, — "  this  tall  clock  in  the  corner.  This  was  owned  by 
Governor  Hancock. — and.  although  over  one  hundred  and  ei^^ 
years  old,  it  is  still  keeping  correct  time.'* 

"  But  this  framed  commission  on  parchment  hanging  here  is  more 
interesting."  suggested  Mr.  Gordon,  who  stood  before  Oliver 
Cromwell's  commission  to  Governor  Winslow.  **  See  the  date, 
April  19,  1654.  Look  at  that  pen  and  ink  sketch  of  Cromwell  in 
the  corner."     And  they  all  found  pleasure  in  e.\.amining  it. 

When  they  had  registered  their  names  they  passed  into  the 
main  hall.  This  was  a  room  forty-six  by  thirty-nine  feet,  with 
walls  twenty-two  feet  high,  and  lighted  entirely  from  tlie  roof. 

The  tirst  thing  which  seemed  to  attract  tliem  all  was  Charles 
Lucy's  large  and  valuable  painting  of  tlie  Departure  of  the  Pil- 
grims, which  hangs  on  the  north  side  of  tlie  hall. 

**  That  was  e.x-governor  Rice's  tine  gift."  said  Mrs.  Gordon; 
'*  At  a  prize  e.xhibition  in  England  it  took  the  first  premium  of  a 
thousand  guineas.     See  how  different  in  tone  and   color  it  is  from 


the  other  large  paintings  hanging  here.  Look  at  the  face  of  Wm. 
Bradford,  in  the  foreground,  also  John  Robinson,  and  the  children 
of  Elder  Brewster,  gazing  up  at  him."  Mrs.  Gordon's  enthusiasm 
imparted  itself  to  such  an  extent,  that  they  paused  to  study  the 
picture  with  the  aid  of  the  chart  provided,  and  then  passed  on  to 
"'The  Landing,"  a  painting  thirteen  by  sixteen  feet,  hanging  on 
the  east  side  of  the  hail. 

■'  Halloa !  there's  Samoset.  mother,"  cried  Tom.  ■'  He's  greeting 
the  Pilgrims  —  one,  two,  three there  are  over  twenty  fig- 
ures in  this." 

"  I  like  this  one  better,"  said  Mrs.  (iordon  passing  aruund  to  the 
south  wall.  ■'  I  thought  it  looked  natural.  It  is  a  copy  of  one  in 
the  rotunda  of  the  Capitol  at  Washington, — Wier's  '  Embarkation 
from  Delft  Haven.'" 

■'  The  women  couldn't  have  been  so  elaborately  dressed  as  that, 
1  know,"  said  Bessie,  looking  at  it. 

"  That's  a  picture,  Bess ;  'tisn't  real  life,"  suggested  Tom  blandly. 
■' Here,  ma, —  you  know.  Were  these  our  foremothers,  dressed 
up  like  this  to  go  to  sea?  "  and  the  boy  laughed  heartily  over  what 
seemed  to   him    his    facetious   humor. 

"Foremothers!"  cried  '"You  shan't  so  malign  them. 
They  were   noble,  heroic  women." 

"  I'm  not  maligning  them.  *  It  is  the  truth,  the  whole  truth 
and  nothing  but  the  tiuth,'"  rejoined  the  boy.  "  If  the  men  were 
forefathers,  then  of  course  the  women  were  foremothers,  you  can't 
get  away  from  it." 

"  Time  is  short,  children,"  again  broke  in  Mrs.  Gordon,  who 
was  often  obliged  to  check  Tom  and  Bessie's  discussions,  espe- 
cially those  pertaining  to  the  woman  question.  "  There  is  much 
to  sec  here.  Don't  stop  to  argue.  Here  is  Miles  Standish's  Da- 
mascus sword,  which  dates  back  two  or  three  centuries  bcfort- 
Christ.  When  General  Grant  was  here  in  1880,  he  found  great 
pleasure  in  handling  it.  I  suppose  nothing  here  was  more  inter- 
esting to  him.  Look  at  those  Arabic  inscriptions  on  the  blade. 
They  are  very  ancient.  Their  meaning  only  became  known  to  us 
five  years  ago,  when  Professor  Rosedale,  of  Jerusalem,  an  excel- 
lent linguist,  translated  them.  He  said  that  the  inscriptions  and 
emblems  showed  clearly  that  this  very  sword  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  Saracens  at  the  time  of  the  defeat  of  the   Persian   tyrant  war- 


rior  Kozoroi,  when  Jerusalem  was  wrenched  from  him  by  the 
KahdiffOmar  ist,  in  A.  D.  637.  See  what  he  says  about  it.  And 
thty  lingered  to  read  the  short,  interesting  account  of  the  sword, 
which  Professor  Rosedale  published  after  his  examination  of  it. 

'*  If  that  is  genuine,  that  alone  is  worth  coming  to  Plymouth  to 
SCO,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  decidedly,  looking  at  it  with  great  interest 

*'  (itMUiinc  !  "  exclaimed  his  wife.  "  Of  course  it  is.  How  can 
you  doubt  it  with  all  this  evidence.  I  do  believe  men  are  born 
d()u!)tcrs,*'  she  added,  looking  fondly  at  him,  only  to  meet  a  little 
tantalizing  smile.  "Yes,  born  doubters,'*  she  repeated.  "But 
here  is  something  not  even  a  fool  could  doubt." 

**  Do  show  us  the  wonder,"  he  replied.  And  she  pointed  into  a 
glass  case  in  which  lay  the  oldest  state  paper  in  existence  in  the 
Ihiitotl  States. — the  first  Plymouth  patent,  granted  June  1,1631. 

This  and  other  interesting  documents  held  their  attention  for 
sonu*  time.  Tom  was  amused  while  reading  the  lines  of  an  open 
copy  of  Bradford's  History  of  Plymouth  Plantation  (1602— 1646) 
to  SCO  the  peculiar  manner  in  which  it  was  written.  Bessie  found 
nu>re  pleasure  in  reading  some  of  the  verses  in  John  Alden's  Bible 
printeil  in  16 JO,  and  brought  over  in  the  Mayflower.  She  expressed 
a  wish  that  she  knew  enough  to  read  those  in  John  Eliot's  Indian 
Hibk\  which  also  lay  open  before  them.  When  Mr.  Gordon  learned 
that  the  portrait  of  Governor  Edward  Winslow  was  the  only  one 
known  of  any  person  who  came  over  in  the  Mayflower,  he  b^ged 
his  wife  for  some  of  her  emotion  with  which  to  view  it. 

**  That/'  said  he»  **  is  something  like  it.  It  gives  me  some  idea  of 
the  men.  It  is  next  to  seeing  the  originals."  *'  It  is  no  more 
indtxxK  1  think  it  isn*t  as  much."  returned  Mrs.  Gordon,  **  as  to  see 
the  fruits  of  their  minds. — these  documents,  etc." 

**  IK>Uvx\.  here  is  the  old  Go\t:mor*s  table. — ^homely  old  thing,  if 
it  was  his."  he  s^iid  lausrhinirlv.  "  Here's  his  chair,  too;"  and  when 
Mrii.  (torvlon  wus  in  the  Iibrar\'-rvH>m  adjoining,  he  actually  sat 
down  in  the  chiiir  in  memorj*  of  Go\xmor  Winslow.  Later*  lie 
s>>nfe>yicvl  to  her  that  if  Elder  Brewster's  and  Governor  Canrer^s 
chairs  wcrt^  not  in  glass  cases,  he  might  find  it  a  pleasure  to  sit  in 
them  a  moment,  in  honor  of  such  worthies. 

"'■  A  mv>ment  ?"  interpo!:<<rd  hcs  wife.   *"  I  should  like  to  sit  in 
jm  hv^ur.  and  think  owr  all  their  Irv^Ww'* 



"  And  rock  that  Mayflower  cradle  in  which  Fereg;rine  White  was 
rocked."  suggested  Tom  with   a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  That  is  a  curiosity  anyway,"  she  replied.  "  Governor  Wiiislow 
brought  that  over.  Did  you  see  it?  But  we  must  not  stay  licrc 
too  long.  Wc  must  be  going.  We've  seen  the  most  important 

And  so  they  had.  Before  leaving,  however,  they  obtained  a 
general  idea  of  the  relics  in  the  lower  hal!. 

From  the  Pilgrim  Hall  they  walked  southward  on  the  same 
street,  a  short  distance  to  the  Plymouth  County  court-house. 
Here  they  were  kindly  shown  some  of  the  valuable  ancient  docu- 
ments, preserved  in  glass-covered  drawers.  They  enjoyed  par- 
ticularly the  original  patent  of  the  Old  Colony,  yellow  with  age, 
granted  in  1629,  and  signed  by  the  Earl  of  Warwick.  Much  to 
his  mother's  gratification,  Tom  was  much  delighted  when  he  was 
privileged  to  handle  the  great  wax  seal  engraved  for  and  once  at- 
tached to  the  charter. 

Mr.  Gordon  did  not  say  much,  but  his  wife  noticed  that  he 
lingered  some  time  over  the  original  order,  in  Governor  Bradford's 
handwriting,  establishing  trial  by  jury  in  1623  ;  also,  Miles  Stand- 
ish's  will  and  the  laying  out  of  the  first  street  in  town,  now  bearing 
the  name  of  Lcyden. 

"These  are  valuable,"  he  said,  "and  growing  more  so  every 
year,  These  rules  laid  down  for  the  colony  are  sensible  and  wise. 
I  always  was  more  interested  in  the  Pilgrims  than  in  the  Puritans. 
Weren't  you,  Bess?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  Bess  replied.  "  People  are  beginning  to  make 
the  right  distinction  between  them,  and  I  am  glad.  The  Pilgrims 
never  would  have  done  what  the  Puritans  did." 

"  Come,  we  can't  stop,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Gordon,  "  we  must  be 
going.  Save  your  philosophy  for  home-talk.  This  is  the  time 
for  seeing.     We've  seen  the  essentials  here.     Now  for  the  Rock." 

"  Yes,  now  for  the  Rock,"  echoed  Tom. 

While  they  were  taking  the  short  walk  thither  Tom  all  at  once 
broke  a  long  silence  by  repeating  aloud  in  a  solemn  manner — 
"The  breaking  waves  dashed  high, 
On  a  stern  and  rock-boimil  coast." 

"  You  won't  find  it  very  rock-bound,"  said  Bessie.  "  That  was 
the  great  surprise  to  me  when  I   first  saw  it.     I  expected  to  see 


something  like  our  Manchester  rocks.     By  the  way,  did  you  see 
the  original  manuscript  of  that  poem  in  Pilgrim  Hall?" 

**  Yes,  and  also  Bryant's  22nd  of  December  poem.  But,  Bess, 
do  you  really  believe  that  it  is  the  same  rock.  I  don't  Ma  thinks 
so  though.  But  then  she  would  believe  anything  they  told  her 
about  history." 

**  I  wish  you  had  some  of  her  historic  imagination.  It  is  not  to. 
be  laughed  at, —  her  reverence  for  the  past,  with  all  its  sacred  as- 
sociations. You  are  altogether  too  flippant.  If  mother  wasn't  the 
best  naturcd  woman  in  the  world  and  didn't  love  you  so  she  would 
get  provoked  with  you." 

**  O,  Bess,  don't  chafe.  I  do  it  partly  in  fu;i,  and  she  knows  it. 
That's  why  she  is  so  good-natured  about  it.  But,  really,  do  you 
believe  that  is  the  genuine  rock?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  It  has  been  fully  proved  to  be  the  identical 
rock.  The  fact  has  been  handed  down  through  generation  after 
generation  from  the  very  first  settlers.  It  now  occupies  its  original 
site,  the  change  having  been  to  raise  it  up  at  different  times  on  its 
shore-bed.    There's  the  pretty  canopy  now.    Isn't  it  symmetrical?" 

**  It  was  designed  by  Hammatt  Billings,"  said  Mrs.  Gordon  as 
they  approached  it.  '*  I  do  reverence  this  rock,  I  assure  you," 
she  added.  *'  It  rests  me  to  sit  on  it."  And  as  she  said  this  she 
threw  herself  down  upon  it. 

"  Kiss  it,  mother,"  said  Tom  roguishly. 

**  It's  nothing  to  make  light  of,  my  boy,"  she  returned,  earnestly. 
**  No  nation  on  the  globe  has  a  more  solid  or  sacred  foundation. 
It  represents  a  strength  and  stability  which,  if  fully  appreciated  and 
realized,  will  make  our  nation  the  strongest  and  most  lasting 
of  all  that  have  ever  lived.  If  you  will  stop  to  think  over  what  was 
enacted  here  you  will  find  no  cause  for  bantering,  only  for  a  pro- 
found reverence  and  gratitude.  There  is  Cole's  Hill  up  there — 
where  the  Pilgrims  buried,  during  that  first  hard  winter,  half  of 
their  little  band.  No  one  who  forgets  to  take  into  account  all  that 
suffering,  sickness  and  death  can  fully  appreciate  what  this  rock 
commemorates  and  what  we  owe  to  it.  In  order  that  the  Indians 
might  not  know  how  many  they  had  lost,  they  leveled  the  graves, 
and  when  spring  came  planted  corn  above  them.  Just  think  of 
that !  At  four  different  times  the  remains  of  those  buried  have 
been  discovered ;    so  that    ^'^-v  that  hill  is  set  apart  as  the  first 


burying  ground.     It  is  marked  by  a  slab  which  we  shall  see  upon 
going  up  those  steps." 

Mrs.  Gordon's  earnestness  in  telling  of  these  early  days  made 
her  hearers  instinctively  feel  that  the  possession  of  an  historic  im- 
agination did  tend  to  broaden  one's  sympathy  and  elevate  one's 

A  few  minutes  later  they  were  reading  the  names  on  the  slab 
commemorative  of  the  dead,  and  taking  in  the  fine  view  which  the 
sacred  place  afforded  them. 

From  Cole's  Hill  they  went  by  way  of  Leyden  Street — ^where 
were  the  sites  of  the  first  house  and  the  first  church  of  the  town — 
to  Burial  Hill. 

*'  Here  were  buried  those  who  survived  the  first  winter,"  said 
Mrs.  Gordon,  upon  reaching  its  top.  **  This  is  where  they  had 
their  fort  and  watch-tower.     Here  are  signs  of  them." 

*•  I  wonder  which  engrossed  their  thoughts  most,  the  Indians  or 
this  splendid  view,"  remarked  Mr.  Gordon,  sitting  down  to  enjoy 
the  panorama  before  them. 

*'  Poor  things,"  sighed  Mrs.  Gordon,  '*  I  don't  suppose  they  had 
much  chance  to  sit  and  enjoy  this  view  as  we  are  now  doing.  They 
had  to  plan  and  work  every  minute  to  keep  themselves  alive.  That 
is  what  it  is  to  be  a  pioneer.  Over  there  is  Clark's  Island,  where 
they  spent  their  first  Sabbath." 

**  All  of  those  hills  are  historic,"  added  Bessie.  "  Being  here 
makes  Massasoit  and  his  treaty  seem  more  real  and  interesting, 
doesn't  it?" 

*'  You'll  have  to  read  that  to  us  when  we  get  home,  Bess,"  re- 
sponded her  father.  '*  It  is  so  long  since  I  ever  thought  of  that 
Indian  that  I  can't  recall  much  anyway  of  what  he  did.  It  is  a 
shame  to  us  Americans  to  be  so  engrossed  in  business  that  we  can't 
know  more  of  our  own  history.  It's  all  money-making,  money- 
getting,  money " 

**  I've  found  the  oldest  stone  on  the  hill,  erected  in  1681,"  broke 
in  Tom,  coming  to  them  from  his  explorations  by  himself.  "  It  is 
so  old  that  all  but  one  side  of  it  is  encased  in  tin." 

**  Sixteen  eighty-one,"  repeated  Mr.  Gordon.  "That  wasn't  a 
Pilgrim's  was  it?" 

"  Poor  Pilgrims,"  replied  his  wife  sympathetically.  "  They  had 
other  things  to  do  than  to  erect  grave-stones  to  their  dead.     Too 


bad,  though,  they  couldn't  have  done  it.  We  should  have  had 
older  stones  than  this  of  Mr.  Gray's.  He  was  one  of  the  wealthiest 
men  of  the  colony.  The  monument  to  Governor  Bradford — over 
there  —  was  not  erected  until  as  late  as  1825.  That  has  on  it  a 
text  in  Hebrew  which  nobody  seems  to  know  anything  about. 
The  Latin  one,  though,  is  good  for  something.  Let's  go  and  see 
it;  "  and  they  found  their  way  to  the  monument.  **  Freely  trans- 
lated," she  continued,  *'  it  says :  *  Do  not  basely  relinquish  what 
the  fathers  with  difliculty  attained.' " 

**  And  mothers,  too,"  added  Tom  mischievously  looking  at 
Bessie.     **  Doesn't  it  .say  that?  " 

"  is  always  understood,  of  course,"  answered  his  mother. 

**  Hess  doesn't  think  so."  replied  the  boy.  '*  She  believes  ia 
'  individuality,'  *  ecjual ' " 

*'  But  we  must  hurry,"  interrupted  his  mother.  "  It  is  get- 
ting on  to  two  o'clock," 

**  We  always  have  to  hurry  if  I  refer  to  Bess's  hobby,"  muttered 
Tom.     "  It's  been  so  three  times  to-day." 

At  this  they  all  laughed  so  spontaneously  that  Tom  could  not^ 
if  he  chose,  remain  in  a  sulky  mood. 

Before  returning  to  the  Samoset  House  they  spent  a  few  mo- 
ments in  looking  around  the  older  part  of  the  town.  Some  old 
houses  on  Sandwich  street,  particularly  the  one  which  is  said  to  be 
the  only  structure  in  existence  associated  with  the  Mayflower 
Pilgrims,  claimed  their  attention. 

**  I  glanced  at  the  old  houses,"  said  Tom,  on  their  return  to  the 
hotel,  **just  to  please  mother;  but  I  gazed  at  the  soldiers* monu- 
ment to  please  myself.     That  was  worth  the  whole  of  them." 

"  Our  dinner  just  now  is  worth  more  than  anything,"  added  Mrs. 
Gordon,  inwardly  amused  at  Tom*s  attempt  to  discriminate.  "We 
arc  back  in  good  time,  and  must  be  very  hungrj'." 

After  dinner  they  started  to  walk  to  the  monument. 

"  I  wish  they  would  hurry  up  and  finish  the  whole  thing,"  said 
Bessie  as  they  came  in  sight  of  it.  "  This  delay  is  not  compli* 
mentary  to  those  who  have  worked  so  hard  and  done  so  much  for 

••  If  that  Minister  Harding  had  lived  it  would  have  been  done  by 
this  time,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  as  a  picture  of  that  enter- 


prising  laborer  in  the  cause  came  before  his  vision.  "  He  was  full 
of  the  work." 

"  But  thanks  to  e\-governor  Long  and  Senator  Hoar,"  in- 
terposed his  wife,  ■'  Congress  has  appropriated  a  sum  for  the 
third  statue,  Liberty,  and  its  accompanying  panel.  There  is  only 
one  more  to  gel — Law — and  it  has  been  hinted  that  the  lawyeisof 
the  land  will  give  that." 

"Who  gave  the  others?"  enquired  Tom.  "'The  whole  thing  is 
kind  of  a  medley,  isn't  it?  " 

"A  medley!  "  exclaimed  his  mother.  "What  an  idea.  Why, 
Tom,  it  is  all  the  more  valuable  for  having  been  the  offering  of 
many  hearts  and  hands." 

"  Didn't  our  Massachusetts  legislature  appropriate  something?" 
asked  Bessie. 

"Yes;  ten  thousand  dollars  towards  the  figure  of  Morality. 
Then  the  State  of  Connecticut  gave  that  beautiful  piece  of  marble 
sculpture,  the  tablet  of  the  Departure  from  Delft  liaven.  You 
must  examine  that.  It  was  a  Connecticut  man.  too, —  Roland 
Mather,  Esq., — who  gave  the  figure  of  Education,  and  the  demi- 
relief  of  the  Signing  of  the  Compact  on  the  west  buttress.  That 
is  also  beautiful.  The  figure  of  Education  alone  weighs  twenty- 
three  tons.     Just  think  of  that." 

"The  conception  of  such  a  national  monument,"  said  Mr. 
Gordon,  as  they  approached  its  base,  "  is  worthy  of  the  Pilgrims 
whom  it  commemorates.     This  situation  is  unsurpassed," 

"When  it  is  all  completed,"  added  his  wife,  "and  these  nine 
acres  of  ground  are  laid  out  according  to  the  plan,  it  will  be  a  fit 
shrine  for  the  American  people  to  vi.sit.  I  can't  be  contented  until 
it  is  all  done." 

"  You'll  have  to  come  to  Plymouth  again  when  it  is,"  said  Tom, 

"  Of  course  1  shall,  my  boy  ;   and  I  hope  you  all  will,  too." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  on  the  train  bound  for  Boston. 
What  ihcy  had  seen  became  the  chief  topic  of  conversation  for 
several  days.  Bessie  re-read  her  history  of  the  Pilgrims.  andTom 
even  begged  her  to  tell  him  of  Samoset.  Much  to  Mrs.  Gordon's 
surprise  and  delight,  both  he  and  his  father  soon  began  to  make 
inquiries  as  to  another  old  historical  place  they  could  visit  before 
the  summer  was  over. 





In  considering  very  briefly  the  remarkable  movement  in  religious 
and  philosophic  thought  which  occurred  in  New  England  in  the 
early  part  of  this  century,  and  which  bears  the  name  of  Tran- 
scendentalism, it  may  be  useful  to  speak  first  of  its  development 
in  Germany  and  of  the  principles  upon  which  it  was  based,  re- 
membering that  in  its  passage  across  the  Atlantic  it  "  suffered  a 
sea-change  "  and  underwent  some  striking  modifications. 

There  existed  during  the  Middle  Ages,  as  perhaps  there  always 
have  been  and  always  will  be  existing,  two  great  schools  of  phil- 
osophy, the  Nominalists  and  the  Realists.  The  first  maintain  that 
the  terms  used  to  express  abstract  ideas,  such  as  duty,  truth  and 
love,  are  mere  names,  corresponding  to  no  actually  existing  things ; 
the  others  assert  that  these  terms  describe  real,  though  bodiless, 
entities ;  not  things  which  are  visible  to  our  eyes,  but  the  types  of 
such ;  in  this  they  follow  Plato's  theory  of  ideas,  which  declares 
that  everything,  concrete  or  abstract,  that  appears  but  incomplete 
here,  has  elsewhere  its  perfect  archetype,  its  divine  idea. 

These  schools  are  mainly  represented  to-day  by  the  Sensation- 
alists and  the  Idealists  ;  to  the  first,  as  one  of  its  earliest  expositors, 
belongs  John  Locke,  who  sought  to  define  the  capacity  cf  the 
understanding,  and  to  mark  the  limits  within  which  it  can  push  its 
investigations;  while  Kant,  as  the  founder  cf  the  second  school, 
reviewing  and  dissenting  from  Locke's  stand-point,  asserted  meta- 
physical theories,  which  have  become  known  as  Transcendentalism, 

The  term  itself,  signifying  what  goes  bcyondy  had  already  been 
used  by  the  schoolmen  to  denote  those  ideas  which  lay  outside  the 
Categories  of  Aristotle;  viz.,  truth,  unity,  goodness,  being;  but 
Kant  employed  the  phrase  to  signify  those  fundamental  concep- 
tions which  transcend  experience,  and  may  be  held  to  impose  the 
conditions  which  render  experience  tributary  to  knowledge;  all 
cognition    being  termed  transcendental,  which  is  concerned  less 



with  objects  themselves  than  with  our  method  of  cognizing  them, 
as  far  as  possible,  a  priori. 

In  accordance  with  Kant's  analysis,  we  find  that  Mind  and 
Matter,  Subject  and  Object,  Ego  and  Non-Ego,  are  opposed  to 
one  another ;  that  Mind  is  conscious  of  its  own  operations  only, — 
the  subject-receptive  of  impressions  made  by  outward  things,  all 
falling  within  the  limits  of  time  and  space,  which  arc  to  be  held  as 
pre-established  forms  of  sensibility,  primeval  facts  of  consciousness. 
The  Mind,  classifying  material  furnished  by  the  senses,  transforms 
sensation  into  conception,  and  impression  into  thought,  and  finds 
that  all  judgment  must  conform  to  four  conditions, — Quantity, 
Quality,  Relation  2nd  Modality.  Having  thus  arrived  at  concep- 
tions, thoughts  and  judgments,  we  see  that  another  faculty,  the 
Reason,  links  thoughts  together,  draws  inferences,  finds  conclu- 
sions, and  arrives  at  length  at  ultimate  principles,  supplying  the 
final  generalization,  and  reaching  the  idea  of  a  divine  unity,  which 
gathers  up  into  itself  all  other  ideas,  that  perfect,  infinite  and 
eternal  unity,  that  we  call  God. 

The  fidelity  of  the  Mind  to  itself  is  Kant's  corner-stone  of  faith  ; 
the  law  of  Duty  is  imperative  whether  there  be  a  God  or  no ;  and 
he  took  firm  held  of  speculative  truth  and  the  obligations  of  the 
moral  law,  while  opposed  to  the  dogmatic  theology  of  his  day. 
Beyond  these  limits  no  one,  lie  declares,  can  pass :  but  Jacobi, 
following  him,  proclainn.d  faith  to  he  the  power  by  which  man  ar- 
rives at  essential  truth,  and  declared  God,  Duty  and  Immortality 
to  be  actualities,  and  that  through  intuitions  the  Mind  may  enter 
into  a  world  of  divine  realities. 

This  mystical  thought,  received  a  yet  greater  impulse  from 
Fichte.  who  declared  the  facts  of  consciousness  to  be  solid  and 
substantial,  the  only  things,  indeed,  that  we  really  know  to  be 
such;  the  outward  world,  it  may  be,  being  only  phenomenal, — ^the 
reflection  of  our  own  thought. 

Ideas  alone  are  fixed  and  sure,  and  the  visible  universe  may  be 
but  "such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of,"  The  soul  must,  therefore, 
rest  satisfied  with  its  own  realm,  the  world  of  thought  and  of  ideas ; 
and  of  these  ideas  the  chief  are  God  and  the  Immortal  Life.  If 
they  are  more  than  that  we  cannot  know;  the  Infinite  is  not 
something  to  be  attained  hereafter,  it  surrounds  us  here,  and  man, 


with  his  mind's  eye,  beholds  God,  while  he  feels  within  his  breast 
the  workings  of  the  Divine  will. 

In  the  religious  world  of  Germany  the  touch  of  the  new  philos- 
ophy was  deeply  felt;  Schleiermacher  asserted  religion  to  be  an 
inward  experience,  a  sense  of  divine  things  within  the  soul ;  and 
this  sense  to  be  based,  not  upon  knowledge  or  action,  on  theology 
or  morality,  but  upon  aspiration,  dependence,  love;  a  doctrine 
which  seems  to  have  proved  especially  grateful  to  the  liberal 

Hence  there  grew  up  in  New  England  a  great  sympathy  with 
those  who  separated  religion  from  dogma ;  but  Schleiermacher, 
who  had  written  for  the  purpose  of  opposing  rationalism,  had 
made  it  possible  to  retain  the  essential  spirit  without  the  formal 
creed  of  the  Evangelical  party,  and  thereby  encouraged  a  neglect 
of  the  very  system  of  theology  he  had  designed  to  support.  In 
England,  Coleridge  became  prominent  as  the  leader  of  the  new 
school  of  thought,  and  aimed  to  construct  a  system,  which,  based 
upon  the  teachings  of  Christianity,  should  substitute  spiritual 
ideas  in  place  of  traditional  authority. 

This  influence  became  one  of  the  most  important  factors  in  the 
movement  in  New  England,  where  his  influence  was  great;  and 
Wordsworth's  poetry  opened  a  yet  wider  vision  in  the  same  direc- 
tion,— the  noble  "  Ode  to  Immortality,*'  with  its  Platonic  remin- 
iscences, being  most  highly  prized  of  all. 

Nor  was  French  philosophy  wholly  passed  by ;  the  writer  who 
seems  to  have  been  most  regarded  being  Cousin,  a  disciple  of  the 
Eclectic  School,  who  supposed  himself  to  have  fixed  upon  sure 
foundations  the  system  of  idealism. 

No  where  else  did  the  new  theories  so  affect  life  in  all  its  social 
aspects  as  they  did  in  New  England,  where  they  influenced  every 
form  of  thought,  and  where  prejudices  and  traditions  were  less 
fixed,  and  the  forms  of  society  less  rigid  than  in  Europe. 

All  were  excited  by  the  sense  of  individual  freedom,  and  a 
strong  intellectual  vitality  was  aroused,  which  seized  upon  and 
appropriated  all  that  was  fresh  and  novel  in  the  Old  World 

Ideas,  said  they,  must  conform  to  life ;  and  since  New  England 
had  broken,  or  for  the  moment  fancied  that  she  had,  with  political 
and  social  traditions,  why  should  she  not  fling  aside  the  philosophy 


■  65 


■of  experience  altogether,  and,  starting  afresh  for  herself,  base  a 
new  system  upon  the  study  of  the  human  mind  to-day?  "  Happy," 
says  a  recent  essayist,  "  is  the  philosophy  that  can  support  Its  own 
larger  creed  upon  the  instincts  of  duty  inherited  from  many  a 
generation  of  narrow  uprightness,  of  unquestioned  law."  No 
where  could  this  be  more  truly  exemplified  than  in  New  England, 
where  the  prevailing  Puritanism  had  constituted  a  religion  of  a 
highly  intellectual  type,  transmitted  throughalongseries  of  strong 
and  lofty  lives.  The  early  Puritans,  who  were,  when  they  left  the 
Mother  Country,  still  within  the  lines  of  the  Anglican  Church 
soon  became,  when  separated  by  the  ocean  and  by  wide  differences 
of  opinion,  Corigregationalists. — for  the  most  part,  adopting  a  sys- 
tem which  favoured  that  freedom  of  thought  and  action  which 
developed  individualism  of  character  and  opinion.  The  prevalent 
theology  also  trained  their  minds  in  speculative  questions,  and 
often  manifested  a  highly  spiritual  phase,  based  upon  Platonism, 
as  contrasted  with  the  more  dogmatic  system,  which  induced,  and 
yielded  to  the  Unitarian  Movement. 

The  Unitarians,  at  first  certainly,  were  not  Platonists ;  they  were 
seekers  after  positive  knowledge,  clear  in  thought  and  argument, 
practical,  averse  to  mysticism  and  extravagance,  lovers  of  good 
taste,  friends  of  free  thought  and  eager  for  truth,  without  a  creed, 
or  the  philosophy  on  which  to  erect  one ;  they  asserted  the  absolute 
freedom  of  the  human  mind,  and  "  building  better  than  they 
knew,"  they  helped  the  growth  in  their  own  camp,  as  Luther  did. 
of  theories  that  would  have  amazed  the  leaders. 

The  new  philosophy  came  to  us  first  at  second  hand,  through 
French  or  English  expositors,  then  by  direct  translations  from  the 
German,  and  it  found  a  congenial  soil  in  a  community  where  ideal- 
ism had  long  since  taken  firm  root.  Attention  has  been  drawn  to 
a  certain  coincidence  between  the  new  teaching  and  the  Quaker 
doctrine  of  the  '■Inner  Light,"  but  the  resemblance  is  more  strik- 
ing in  appearance  than  in  reality,  since  George  Fox  attributed  this 
light  to  the  direct  influence  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  while  iheTranscen- 
dentalists  averred  it  to  be  a  natural  possession  of  the  human  soul. 

In  1834  the  Rev.  James  Walker  made  the  assertion  that  those 
spiritual  faculties  and  capacities  which  are  assumed  as  the  founda- 
tion of  religion  in  the  soul  are  attested  by  the  relations  of  con- 
sciousness, and  expressed  the  hope  that  the  new  philosophy  might 


niniiui  us  of  our  relations  lo  the  spiritual  world.  Two  years  later, 
Ralph  Waldo  Kmcrson.  the  unquestioned  master  of  the  new  move- 
ment, published  his  essay  on  **  Nature/'  wherein  he  makes  the 
nu>st  uncompromising:^  assertion  of  idealistic  thought,  and  declares 
Iiloalism  to  ho  **an  hypothesis  to  account  for  Nature  by  other 
principles  than  those  of  carpentry  and  chemistr>\  The  world  is  a 
divine  ilream  from  which  we  may  presently  awake  to  the  glories 
and  uncertainties  of  day.'* 

In  1840  came  Theodore  Parker's  declaration  that  "the  germs  of 
religion  must  be  I  orn  in  man  ;  the  existence  of  God  is  a  fact,  given 
in  our  nature ;  as  the  sensation  of  hunger  presupposes  food  to 
satisfy  it,  so  the  sense  of  dependence  on  God  presupposes  his  ex- 
istence and  character."  In  the  next  year  came  his  great  sermon 
on  '*rhe  Transient  iuui  Permanent  in  Christianitv/'  which  had  the 
effect  of  causing  a  division  in  the  Unitarian  body,  between  those 
who  stilt  cluni:  to  authority  ;md  the  historic  evidences  of  faith,  and 
those  who,  carrvinv;  out  cntirelv  the  doctrine  of  Transcendentalism, 
atnrmed  that  the  best  proof  of  the  truth  of  Christian  teachii^ 
was  to  b<.*  found  in  the  response  which  they  a\\-akened  in  the  hu- 
man soul. 

Nor  was  it  on  thtvlog>-  alone,  or  on  Unitarian  theologians  solcI]r» 
that  the  iiitiuence  of  the  new  philosophy  was  exerted;  art*  litera- 
ture and  science  were  stirred  bv  i:s  i respiration,  which  found  its 
tulle:>:  literary  e\pres:>ioti  in  the  paji:es  cf  the  "  Dial/"  a  magazine^ 
conducted  by  Margaret  Fuller  ajrtd  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson*  which 
numbered  amon^  it<  cxmtributors  many  tainou5  New  FngTanMii 

The  'rran:>cendentaJist  Movement  i5  by  no  meajas  to  be  regarded 
x>  a  n!c  re  reac ::o  n  a-^^a i  t  Fu  r i  tan : :>m .  w  h  i ch .  >p  i te  o  f  its  bardnessv 
bore,  hidden  :n  iis  heart,  a  j^ruin  cf  pure  idealisni;  it  was^  rather^ 
an  asi^ertion  of  the  inalienable  vverth  of  man.  and  a  declorotijoii: 
that  in  his  natural  constitution  are  to  be  feu  no  the  attributes  of  the 
>uijer!iatural.  Nor  were  its  followers  dreamers  merely,  thougjh 
supine  there  were,  n^  doubt,  who  shrank  from  ojnrijctwitli  tbi;  outtcir 
world,  js\^  S4."»u^hc  refu'j^e  from  its  strui^gies  aiid  temptations  ia  t&r 
quiet  cf  their  libraries,  as  of  oid  tiie  Christian  hermitis  lied  into 
desert  wastes  ajid  lonely  caverns.  But  for  tlie  most  part tiiey  woe 
strenuous  workers,  wrestling  with  oil  problems,  social,  political' ami 
relij^ious,  that  beset  tile  mind  of  man  ;    they  suuy^it  to  draw  souift 


onward  by  drawing  them  upward  through  spiritual  attraction,  and 
if  they  sometimes  fell  into  error  they  most  certainly  strove  man- 
fully by  noble  means  to  reach  to  noble  ends. 

Our  age  is  possibly  somewhat  too  much  given  to  the  belief  that 
nature  never  moves  with  a  leap,  that  all  progress  is  gradual  and 
continuous,  that  in  the  long  run  the  tortoise  always  wins  the  race. 
This  assumption,  however,  seems  to  be  disapproved  both  in  natural 
and  political  history.  Nature  certainly  does  sometimes  make 
very  long  strides,  at  any  rate ;  and  the  story  of  Transcendentalism 
has  shown  that  a  thought  may  have  vital  force  enough  to  send 
the  human  mind  over  vast  space  at  a  bound,  as  the  hare,  by  one 
inspired  effort,  may  win  the  goal  towards  which  the  patient  tortoise 
is  still  painfully  plodding.  That  active  work  must  be  the  visible 
result  of  such  aspirations,  we  are  forced  to  believe,  and  events 
proved  that  to  be  true. 

Another  charge  sometimes  urged  against  Transcendentalism  is 
that  it  makes  self-culture  too  prominent,  thus  conducing  to  egoism 
and  selfishness ;  and  the  perpetually  adduced  example  of  the  truth 
of  this  charge  is  Goethe.  In  this  instance  the  charge  may  be 
somewhat  difficult  to  refute,  although  it  is  hard  to  see  that  Goethe 
was  any  more  selfish  with  his  culture  than  he  would  have  been 
without  it,  or  than  a  great  many  other  men  who  certainly  never 
have  made  any  kind  of  culture  a  prominent  aim  in  life;  but  it  is 
by  no  means  true  of  his  countryman,  Fichtc,  who  abandoned  the 
lecturer's  desk  to  fight  against  the  French  in  defence  of  the  Father- 
land; nor  of  Emerson,  or  Parker,  who  risked,  with  many  another 
heroic  soul,  worldly  honors,  happiness,  life  itself,  at  the  call  of 

A  system  deserves  to  be  judged  by  its  best  results. 

Nothing  seemed  to  escape  the  transcendental  eye,  and  even  food 
became  a  subject  for  the  idealizing  tendency.  Mr.  Alcott,  pre- 
ferring Pythagoras  to  Plato  as  his  master,  declared  himself  a  vehe- 
ment advocate  of  a  purely  vegetarian  diet,  and,  forgetting  that  by 
many  "  death  and  all  our  woes  "  have  been  referred  to  the  eating 
of  an  apple,  asserted  that  only  by  a  return  to  that  primitive 
nutriment  could  man  '*  work  out  the  beast,'*  which  he  believed  to 
have  entered  into  human  nature  through  the  eating  of  flesh. 

In  Brook  Farm  we  have  an  attempt  at  the  formation  of  a  perfect 
society  upon  Socialistic  principles ;   an  attempt,  foredoomed  in  its 


very  essence  to  failure,  and  justly  so ;  but  whose  high  moral  tone 
and  exalted  thought  saved  it  from  failure  as  a  spiritual  influence. 
After  all,  every  man  can  do  some  one  thing  better  than  others, 
and  whatever  may  be  our  estimate  of  the  elevating  influence  of 
house-work  or  farming,  we  can  not  help  feeling  that  Hawthorne 
was  more  truly  fulfilling  his  mission  when  writing  "The  Scarlet 
Letter  "  or  "  The  Marble  Faun,"  than  when  with  fear  and  trembling 
he  milked  the  Brook  Farm  cows  or  brandished  the  Brook  Farm 

To  religious  ideas  Transcendentalism  was  peculiarly  adapted 
and,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  most  suitable. 

Professing  to  deal  with  matters  beyond  the  domain  of  exper- 
ience, it  entered  into  the  realm  of  the  absolute  and  the  eternal,  and 
made  them  the  objects  of  its  contemplation  and  investigation. 
Religion  had  been  so  generally  presented  in  a  dogmatic  form,  had 
been  so  made  to  depend  upon  authority  and  upon  assent  to  certain 
doctrinal  ideas,  that  ever  since  the  establishment  of  the  Baconian 
school  of  thought  there  had  set  in  a  sceptical  feeling  in  regard  to 
it  among  those  who  found  themselves  unable  to  accept,  either 
wholly  or  in  part,  the  proofs  adduced  in  support  of  church  author- 
ity, or  the  supernatural  arguments  in  favor  of  church  doctrines. 

Nor  was  it  special  doctrines  only  which  had  lost  ground  through 
this  scepticism ;  faith  had  grown  less  in  the  nobler  aspirations  of 
spiritual  thought,  and  in  France  especially  the  tone  of  the  literary 
classes  had  been  sensibly  lowered  thereby.  In  Germany,  however, 
the  tendency  toward  free  thought  came  from  the  idealistic  philos- 
ophy, which  gave  an  impulse  to  the  naturalistic  or  historic  school, 
the  influence  of  which  is  so  widely  felt  to-day,  and  which  preserves 
the  spiritual  nobleness  and  beauty  of  the  gospel  teachings,  while 
depriving  them  of  their  miraculous  character. 

Transcendentalism  asserted  plainly  that  there  is  in  the  soul  of 
man  an  intuitive  perception  of  God,  as  a  Being  infinite  in  power, 
wisdom  and  goodness,  and  that  this  perception  is  a  half-latent  fact 
of  consciousness.  This  faith  was  declared  to  be  ineradicably  im- 
planted in  the  human  heart,  and  to  be  discoverable  in  all  religions, 
under  the  darkest  symbols  and  in  the  meanest  shrines.  Thus, 
while  the  sceptic  doubted  of  immortality  as  unproven,  and  the  or- 
thodox accepted  it  on  the  authority  of  revelation,  transcendental 
thinkers  declared  the  belief  in  it  to  be  a  portion  of  the  mind  itself. 



that  it  needs  no  proof,  but  is  a  fact  of  consciousness.  The  other 
life  is  but  an  extension  of  this,  into  which,  in  the  words  of  the 
quaint  English  poet, 

'  •  We  go 
As  from  one  room  lo  another ;  " 
and  in  place  of  the  hope  of  heaven  and  the  fear  of  hell,  was  substi- 
tuted a  longingafter  spiritual  perfection  and  freedom,  and  a  declara- 
tion that  the  soul  is.  and  must  be,  immortal  purely  by  virtue  of  its 
essential  qualities.  All  seeds  of  truth  are  contained  within  the 
soul,  ready  to  expand  into  beauty  when  touched  by  the  light  from 
heaven,  and  all  religions  are  the  effort  of  the  soul  at  self- 

Many  transcendcntalists  believed  in  miracles,  since  they  declare 
that  man  was  himself  a  supernatural  being,  and  the  powers  of  the 
illuminated  soul  were  sometimes  spoken  of  in  strains  of  rapture, 
which  the  profane  were  fond  of  likening  to  the  ecstasies  of  the 
revivalist.  Every  man,  it  was  asserted,  is  born  with  a  moral 
faculty,  which,  being  developed,  creates  in  him  the  ideas  of  right 
and  wrong. 

As  a  system  of  philosophy,  Transcendentalism  may  be  said  to 
be  based  upon  what  have  not  been  proven  to  be  facts ;  and  it  has 
been  well  declared  that  it  should  rather  be  called  a  Gospel.  Its 
data  are  hidden  in  the  recesses  of  consciousness,  its  utterances  are 
delivered  ex  catltcdray  its  greatest  exponents  have  been  preachers 
and  seers.  It  deals  with  divine  things  and  eternal,  with  essential 
causes,  with  spiritual  laws,  with  ideas  of  goodness,  truth  and 
beauty,  and,  above  ail,  with  the  possibilities  of  the  soul.  It  is 
fascinating  to  the  imagination,  and  readily  bends  itself  to  acts  of 

The  greatest  of  its  preachers,  Theodore  Parker,  declared  the 
three  cardinal  facts  of  human  consciousness  to  be  an  absolute  God, 
the  Moral  Law,  and  the  Immortal  Life;  and  upon  these  declara- 
tions he  took  his  stand.  The  great  work  which  it  was  the  part  of 
Transcendentalism  to  accomplish  was  to  present  to  the  world  pure 
and  lofty  ideas,  illustrated  by  noble  lives;  to  awaken  to  fresh 
vigor  all  true  and  ardent  souls,  and  to  teach,  in  a  material  age,  the 
beauty  and  worthiness  of  those  things  which  are  pure  and  lovely 
and  of  good  report. 

It  exalted  all  that   it    touched,   am!   proclaimed   the   truth   that 


within  the  humblest,  lowliest  and  most  ignorant  soul  may  bum 
the  divine  spark  that  allies  it  with  the  infinite  light.  And  since  it 
asserts  man's  kinship  with  the  Divine,  it  must  believe  in  the  con- 
tinual upward  progress  of  the  soul  when  the  body  perishes ;  nor 
can  wc,  perhaps,  better  illustrate  that  faith,  than  by  turning  back- 
ward to  the  days  before  Christianity  was  born  into  the  world  and 
quoting  the  words  of  the  purest  and  noblest  of  Latin  poets,  white- 
souled  Virgil,  who,  living  on  the  boundary  line  between  the  old 
world  and  the  new,  may  connect  the  hope  of  the  one  with  the  faith 
of  the  other : 

"  Then  since  from  God  these  lesser  lights  began, 
And  th*  cnger  spirits  entered  into  man, 
To  God  again  the  enfranchised  soul  must  tend. 
He  is  her  home, — her  author  is  her  end  ; 
No  death  is  hcr's,  \vhen  earthly  eyes  grow  dim, 
Star-like  she  soars,  and  God-like  melts  in  Him  ! "  * 

*■  Virgil :  translation  of  F.  \V.  H.  Myers. 




A  New  England  village  on  Sunday  is  about  as  quiet  a  place 
as  any  in  the  world,  and  the  little  Shaker  settlement  of  Hancock, 
in  the  westernmost  county  of  Massachusetts,  was  no  exception  to 
this  rule  one  Sunday  morning  in  August,  many  years  ago.  It  was 
a  very  hot  day,  and  all  nature  seemed  to  be  lazily  content  with 
the  fullness  of  its  own  development.  The  hard,  dustless  road  lead- 
ing through  the  town  was  bordered  by  green  grass  and  stone 
walls,  so  compactly  built  that  even  the  chipmunks  could  find  no 
refuge  in  them,  and  on  either  side  the  Shaker  farm  appeared  most 
flourishing.  The  high  Indian  corn  waved  its  tassels  over  the  huge 
yellow  pumpkins,  nestling  snugly  upon  the  ground  in  its  shadow ; 
the  ripening  wheat  and  oats  glfstened  in  the  brilliant  sunlight;  an 
acre  of  buckwheat  diffused  a  subtle  and  penetrating  odor ;  and  the 
trees  of  the  orchard  groaned  comfortably  under  the  burden  of 
abundant  fruit.  The  great  buildings,  which  the  Shakers  always 
find  necessary  for  their  peculiar  social  arrangements,  showed  not 
a  sign  of  life  for  some  hours.  Severely  plain  in  architecture,  they 
were  only  redeemed  from  ugliness  by  the  characteristic  Shaker 
neatness,  which  was  happily  indicated  by  a  broom  hanging  out- 
side every  door,  and  warning  all  to  brush  their  boots  before  enter- 

But  the  deathly  stillness,  brooding  over  the  works  of  nature  and 
of  man,  was  broken  at  last.  A  capacious  wagon,  drawn  by  a  pair 
of  horses,  rattled  noisily  down  a  back  lane,  and  up  to  the  door  of 
one  of  the  largest  houses,  and  its  Shaker  driver,  without  quitting 
his  reins,  shouted  in  stentorian  tones, —  **  All  aboard  for  meetin'!'* 

At  once  it  became  evident  that  at  least  this  house  was  inhabited. 
Several  staid  old  Shakeresses  glided  forth  from  it,  looked  approv- 
ingly up  at  the  cloudless,  blue  sky,  and  then  scrupulously  held 
their  skirts  well  off  from  the  wheels  as  they  got  into  the  wagon. 
When  they  were  fairly  seated,  they  gave  a  final  twitch  to  their 

172  '  SISTER  AGNES, 

stiff  white  caps  and  the  scoop-Hke  Shaker  bonnets  that  completely 
concealed  their  heads ;  then  they  ran  their  hands  over  the  white 
silk  handkerchiefs,  thrown  around  their  shoulders  and  crossed  on 
the  breast;  and  after  smoothing  the  numberless  plaits  of  their 
lilac,  neutral,  and  subdued-mouse-colored  skirts,  they  folded  their 
shawls  about  them,  though  the  heat  was  fast  growing  oppressive, 
and  silently  awaited  what  was  to  follow.  Two  decrepit  old  breth- 
ren next  appeared,  bent  almost  double  over  their  stout  canes,  with 
their  broad-brimmed  hats  thrust  down  on  their  ears,  so  as  to  dis- 
play their  banged  hair  in  front  and  their  flowing  locks  behind,  and 
with  long-tailed  coats  flapping  around  their  legs  and  making  it 
difficult  for  them  to  mount  to  their  seats.  Last  came  a  bevy  of 
young  girls,  whose  bright  eyes  and  fair  complexions  were  wonder- 
fully well  set  off  by  the  quaint  primness  of  the  Shaker  costume. 
They  were  laughing  and  talking,  as  if  bound  for  a  picnic,  and 
nothing  near  or  far  escaped  their  keen  vision. 

'*  Oh !  how  clear  Greylock  is  today !  I  wish  we  were  going 
there  instead  of  to  meeting,"  said  one  girl,  pointing  to  the  distant 
mountain,  the  highest  of  the  Berkshires,  looming  up  on  the  ho- 

"  Too  bad  Agnes  isn't  here !  She  never  gets  enough  of  looking 
at  the  mountain,  when  it's  so  pleasant, "  spoke  up  another  girl. 

'*  Where  is  Agnes?  There's  room  enough  for  Agnes.  We  must 
have  Agnes  along, "  exclaimed  several  youthful  voices  in  chorus. 

"Agnes,  where  be  ye?"  roared  the  driver;  and  only  stone- 
deafness  could  excuse  not  hearing  him. 

A  young  woman  of  slender  form  and  pale  face  appeared  at  the 
open  door. 

**  Agnes!  aren't  you  going  to  meeting?"  was  the  question  put 
to  her  with  general  accord. 

**  Nay,  I  must  stay  at  home  to  look  after  Polly.  She  is  not  well 
today, "  answered  the  young  woman,  gently. 

**  Oh !  we're  so  sorry  you  can't  come, "  cried  all  the  young 
voices,  and  the  older  people,  too,  looked  a  bit  sadder,  as  the  whole 
party  drove  off. 

Several  times  the  wagon  passed  between  the  great  white  house 
and  the  greater  brick  mansion  of  the  *•  church  family, "  where 
religious  services  were  to  be  held.     The  distance  was  but  a  stoneV 

S/STER    AGNES.  f/j 

throw,  and  the  only  possible  reason  for  riding  so  short  a  space 
was  the  fear  that  the  supreme  neatness  of  the  Shaker  dress  might 
be  disordered  or  soiled  by  the  exercise  of  walking.  After  all  the 
brethren  and  sisters  had  gone  over  to  meeting,  Agnes  sat  at  the 
window  of  an  upper  room,  dividing  her  attention  between  Polly, 
dozing  fitfully  in  a  chair,  and  the  peaceful  prospect  out-of-doors. 

**  It  was  real  good  of  you  to  stay  here  with  an  old  woman  like 
me,  *'  said  Polly,  rousing  herself  somewhat  from  her  lethargy. 
**  I'm  bounden  grateful  to  you,  and  I  declare,  I  feel  smarter  and 
more  talky  right  away,  now  I'm  all  alone  with  you.  It  makes  me 
think  of  the  old  times,  when  I  used  to  tend  you,  a  helpless  little 
babe,  for  hours,  while  the  rest  of  the  sisters  were  busy  with  the 
household  work.     Do  you  remember  as  far  back  as  that  ?  " 

"  Nay,  Polly,  "  replied  the  younger  woman,  '*  I  can  only  remem^ 
ber  myself  just  as  I  am  now.  But  I  like  to  hear  about  the  past. 
Please  tell  me  all  about  it,  and  all  about  my  mother. " 

**  Yee,  yee,  child,"  said  Polly  with  the  peculiar  pronunciation  of 
the  affirmation  characteristic  of  the  Shakers.  **  It  does  seem  to 
ne  that  as  I  get  on  in  years,  I  grow  about  as  loose  of  tongue  as 
any  wicked  woman  of  the  world.  Why,  I  have  to  talk,  just  as 
much  as  I  have  to  breathe.  I  must  surely  take  up  a  cross  against 
this  bad  habit,  or  it  '11  be  the  ruination  of  me.  But  perhaps  there's 
no  harm  in  my  indulging  myself  just  this  once,  as  a  sort  of  medi- 
cine.    I'm  sure  it  '11  do  me  a  sight  of  good.  " 

**  If  talking  is  any  help  to  you,  "  interposed  Agnes,  "  you  need 
never  be  sick,  for  I  would  rather  listen  to  you  than  to  anyone  else 
in  the  world. " 

"And  I  like  to  talk  to  you  best,"  rejoined  Polly.  *'WelI, 
Agnes,  seeing  that  you  want  to  know  your  mother  better,  I  must 
say  that  she  was  the  sweetest- faced  woman  I  ever  laid  eyes  on, 
and  you  are  as  much  the  picture  of  her  as  can  be.  Before  she 
came  to  this  abode  of  the  Christ  spirit,  she  had  gone  through  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it  in  the  big  world.  It's  no  sort  of  place  for 
innocent  angels  like  you  or  her.  Poor  thing !  she  never  smiled^ 
and  reason  enough  she  had  to  be  sad.  One  day  she  told  me  her 
story;  I  never  heard  anything  like  it  before  or  since,  —  how  your 
father,  from  being  a  good  and  honest  husband,  had  sunk  lower  and 
lower,  become  a  wreck  in  body  and  mind,  and  at  last  had  been 

174  S/STER    AGNES. 

brought  home  dead   to   her.       Oh,   how  she  did  cry,  when  ^he 
opened  her  heart  and  showed  me  its  sorrow !  " 

"  Dear,  dear  mother ;  how  I  wish  I  could  have  helped  her !  *' 
murmured  Agnes. 

"  I  think  you  did  help  her  by  giving  her  something  to  live  for," 
continued  Polly.  *'  You  weren't  more  than  a  year  old  or  so,  when 
your  mother  brought  you  here.  I  remember,  as  well  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  her  putting  you  in  my  arms,  while  the  elders  and 
cldrcsscs  were  confessing  her  and  making  up  their  minds  to  let 
her  enter  our  novitiate  order.  I  hadn't  ever  before  seen  such  a 
little  mite  of  a  human  being,  and  I  don't  doubt  I  held  you  rather. 
awkwardly.  All  the  younger  sisters  crowded  around,  and  not  one 
of  them  but  what  wanted  to  touch  you,  just  to  be  sure  that  you 
were  alive.  You  opened  your  brown  eyes  wide,  stretched  out 
your  chubby  little  arms,  and  cooed  pleasantly  enough,  but  when 
later  you  began  crying  for  mamma, — and  it  wasn't  any  small  bit  of 
a  noise  you  made  either, — the  sisters  all  scampered  away  in  a  hurry, 
like  a  flock  of  frightened  sheep.  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  have  given  you  a  good  deal  of  trouble 
then  and  ever  since,  "  said  Agnes,  regretfully. 

••  Bless  you,  child,  you  never  made  the  least  speck  of  trouble,  '* 
protested  Polly,  *'  you  were  as  quiet  and  good  a  little  kitten  as 
ever  lived,  just  like  your  dear  mother.  Well,  as  I  was  saying. 
they  let  her  come  into  the  family  as  a  novitiate,  and  then  she  tried 
hard  to  be  a  good  Shakeress.  She  worked  early  and  late,  though 
she  wasn't  any  too  strong;  she  went  to  meeting  as  regularly  as  an 
eldress,  and  what's  more,  she  wanted  to  understand  all  she  heard 
there,  but  some  of  Mother  Ann's  teachings,  I  presume,  were  not 
very  clear  to  her.  One  idea  she  got  into  her  head,  I  never  could 
tell  how,  that  it  was  a  part  of  our  Shaker  religion  to  discourage 
anything  like  love  between  mothers  and  their  children.  When  she 
felt  sure  that  she  was  expected  to  be  no  nearer  nor  dearer  to  you 
than  any  of  us  might  be,  it  quite  broke  her  heart.  She  lost  all 
hold  on  life,  took  a  quick  consumption,  and  day  by  day  she  grew 
so  pale,  thin,  and  weak,  that  it  was  distressing  to  look  at  her. 
Often  she  talked  to  me  about  her  dear  little  girl,  and  begged  me 
to  care  for  you,  so  far  as  the  rules  of  the  community  would  allow, 
which  I  was  only  too  glad  to  promise.     The  hour  appointed  for 


us  all  came  at  last  to  her.  After  a  night  of  terrible  suffering,  she 
wept  and  prayed  over  you  for  a  time,  then  sent  you  out  of  the 
room,  and  soon  death  had  made  you  an  orphan. " 

**  And  so  she  died?"  asked  Agnes,  musingly,  as  if  she  had  not 
heard  the  story  a  hundred  times  before. 

"  So  she  died,  "  said  Polly.  **  It  seems  to  me,  though,  that  we're 
getting  into  a  very  sad  strain.  Hark,  what's  that  I  hear?  Are 
they  marching  in  the  meeting?" 

**  Yes, "  answered  Agnes.  **  Shall  we  join  them  from  a  dis- 
tance ?  " 

**  That  we  will  with  all  my  heart  and  soul, "  exclaimed  Polly, 

The  reader  should  know  that  the  most  curious  part  of  a  Shaker 
meeting  is  the  marching ;  but  it  is  not  necessarily  ridiculous,  though 
one  might  imagine  it  to  be.  A  few  of  the  brethren  and  sisters 
form  an  oval  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  sing  a  rather  lively 
tunc,  while  the  rest  go  marching  briskly  round  and  round,  singing 
if  they  please,  but  invariably  holding  out  their  arms,  and  beckon- 
ing gently  with  their  hands, —  *'  gathering  a  blessing,  "  they  call 
it.  Often  some  aged  or  infirm  individual,  unable  even  to  shuffle 
along,  sits  down,  but  he  never  ceases  to  invoke  his  share  of  the 
blessing  by  the  movement  of  his  hands.  In  like  manner,  Agnes 
sang  the  familiar  marching  hymn  in  a  low  voice,  while  she  and 
Polly  both  marked  its  rhythm  with  motioning  hands,  and  much 
peace  and  comfort  this  simple  ceremony  seemed  to  bring  them. 

"Are  you  perfectly  contented,  Polly?"  asked  Agnes  with  sud- 
den emphasis,  after  a  long  pause. 

'*  Yes,  surely,  that  I  am, "  replied  Polly.  "  But  that's  a  very 
curious  question  for  you.  Aren't  you  just  as  perfectly  contented 
yourself?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  am  or  not,  "  said  Agnes.  "  I  wish  I 
only  knew.  You  always  look  so  calm,  so  occupied  with  the  pres- 
ent moment,  so  unexpected  of  anything  to  come,  that  I  often 
wonder  if  you  never  dream  of  any  other  way  of  life  than  this." 

•'Well,  I  declare,  child,"  spoke  up  Polly,  briskly,  "you're  a 
little  queer  today.  Ever  since  I  knew  a  dish  from  a  door,  I  've 
been  a  Shakeress,  and  I  've  never  dreamed  nor  wanted  to  be  any- 
thing else.     I  think  it's  the  nicest  fate  in  the  world  to  belong  to 


this  chosen  people,  who  set  a  divine  example  to  the  rest  of  man- 
kind by  living  together  in  a  holy  community,  like  the  angels  of 
heaven,  without  marrying  or  giving  in  marriage.      Why,  what 
greater  happiness  can  you  imagine,  I  should  like  to  know?  You're 
not  thinking  of  the  world,  I  hope. " 

"  I  do  think  of  the  world  sometimes,  "  Agnes  answered  timidly, 
"  and  wonder  what  it  is  like.  When  I  see  any  of  the  world's  peo- 
ple, I  try  to  read  in  their  faces  the  wickedness  and  misery  with 
which,  as  our  Elder  tells  us,  they  must  all  be  devoured.  But  they 
don't  always  look  so  very  unhappy.  See,  Polly,  here  come  two 
of  the  very  people  we  are  talking  about !  " 

Polly  edged  her  chair  nearer  the  window,  for  woman's  curiosity 
is  not  extinguished  by  even  a  Shakeress's  gown ;  and  with  more 
than  a  touch  of  scorn  she  soon  exclaimed, — 

"  And  a  pretty  pair  they  are,  too  !  Appears  to  me,  they  might 
find  something  a  little  more  seemly  to  do  this  hot  Sunday  than  to 
come  traipsing  miles  along  a  dusty  road.  Like  as  not  they've 
walked  all  the  way  over  here  from  Richmond." 

"  They  have  stopped  at  the  church  family's, "  said  Agnes ; 
"  they  want  to  go  to  our  meeting. " 

**  But  the  brother  on  duty  at  the  door  will  see  to  it  that  they 
don't  disturb  the  meeting, "  remarked  Polly,  with  satisfaction. 
"  Sure  enough, — he's  telling  them  now  that  our  services  are  not 
public,  and  is  warning  them  away. " 

**  Yes,  and  now  they  are  coming  this  way, "  Agnes  said,  with 
growing  interest. 

**  Laughing  and  talking,  as  if  there  weren't  any  such  thing  as 
Sunday  !  "  snapped  forth  Polly.  *'  Did  you  ever  see  the  like?  There 
they  arc  sitting  down  on  the  grass,  in  the  shade  of  the  great  tree, 
just  under  our  windows,  almost.  Should  think  they  did  need  a 
rest !  " 

•*  How  different  they  look  from  any  of  us  on  the  farms  around 
here  !  "  murmured  Agnes. 

**  Oh  !  It's  easy  to  see,  they're  from  the  cit)',"  said  Polly.  "City 
people  always  do  the  wildest  sort  of  things  when  they  come  to  the 
country.  How  thankful  I  am,  we're  not  like  unto  them.  But 
this  young  man  and  woman  are  worse  than  most  of  their  kind 



*'Why?"  asked  Agnes,  ''because  he  is  taking  her  hand  and 
talking  earnestly !  " 

"Wicked  people!"  Polly  answered.  "I  hope,  Agnes,  you 
could  never  have  the  heart  to  dress  yourself  up,  as  that  girl  has 
done.  Why,  there  isn't  room  on  her  straw  hat  for  another  bit  of 
ribbon,  so  she's  put  the  last  and  the  brightest  piece  around  her 
flaunting  yellow  hair.  From  head  to  foot  she's  one  mass  of  flut- 
tering flummery,  and  seems  to  me  she  might  have  been  satisfied 
without  wearing  such  a  big  bouquet  as  that  upon  her  worldly 
bosom.  The  man,  too,  doesn't  compare  with  our  good  brethren. 
I  never  could  respect  our  Elder  if  his  hair  and  his  coat  were  cut 
as  short  as  that." 

**  See,  Polly,"  said  Agnes,  "  the  young  woman  has  taken  a  flower 
from  her  bouquet  and  is  plucking  it  to  pieces.  And  the  young 
man  is  putting  his  lips  to  her's.     What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"  It  means  that  sin  is  near  us,"  answered  Polly.  **  Come,  child, 
you  musn't  look  another  instant.  Here's  something  better  for  you 
to  do.     Read  me  a  chapter  of  the  *  Millennial  Church,'  please." 

Agnes  obediently  turned  from  the  window,  opened  the  book 
that  was  thrust  into  her  hands,  and  began  reading  aloud.  Read- 
ing is  a  most  effectual  opiate  to  many  people,  and  perhaps  Shaker 
literature  has  peculiarly  soporific  virtues  of  its  own.  A  few  pages 
sufficed  to  put  Polly  sound  asleep;  but  not  until  her  deep  and 
sonorous  breathing  gave  certain  assurance  of  her  flight  to  the  land 
of  dreams,  did  Agnes  venture  to  raise  her  eyes  from  the  profound 
compend  of  Shaker  theology.  When  she  again  glanced  out  of  the 
window  the  young  man  and  woman  of  the  world  had  disappeared, 
and  somehow  or  other  without  them  the  Shaker  maiden  found  the 
prospect  far  less  interesting.  A  sudden  fancy  seized  upon  her. 
She  wanted  one  of  the  rose  leaves  that  beautiful  city  lady  had 
plucked  and  thrown  away.  So  she  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  room 
and  down  the  stairs,  and  was  just  stepping  foot  on  the  broad  stone 
in  front  of  the  house-door,  when  she  became  aware  of  another 
human  presence.  Jacob  Small,  the  jovial  and  happy-go-lucky 
young  fellow,  hired  by  the  Shakers  as  a  farm-hand,  stood  before 
her ;  and  he  was  laughing  away,  until  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

**  Well,  I  declare  to  man,"  said  Mr.  Small  between  two  bursts  of 
laughter,  **  I  didn't  have  no  idea  that  you  was  to  home  from  meet- 
in'  Sister  Agnes." 


"Why,  what  is  there  to  laugh  so  about,  Jacob?"  asked  Agnes, 
with  the  free  use  of  the  Christian  name,  taught  by  Shaker  custom^ 

"  I  am  almost  tickled  to  death  at  the  circus  Fve  just  had,"" 
answered  Jacob.  "  The  way  that  'ere  city  feller  did  spark  his  gaU 
right  under  my  nose,  beats  all  creation.  It  kind  of  made  me  feel 
like  doin'  something  in  that  line  myself." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Jacob,"  said  Agnes. 

"  I  presume  not,"  remarked  Jacob  with  a  near  approach  of 
gravity.  **  'Taint  likely  you  would  understand  such  things.  But 
if  you  Sclw  them  two  a  sittin*  there  just  now,  I'd  give  a  cookey  ta 
know  what  you  made  out  of  'em." 

"  If  you  refer  to  the  two  world's  people,  who  were  under  the 
tree,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  them,"  rejoined  Agnes. 

"  You  can  take  my  word  for  it,"  said  Jacob,  *'  that  them  twa 
folks  was  mighty  sweet  on  each  other.  Here's  a  leetle  rose  the 
gal  dropped.  You  can  have  it.  You  don't  see  many  such  useless 
flowers  in  them  Shaker  gardens,  and  it  '11  sort  o'  put  you  in  mind 
of  the  good  things  of  the  world  that  you've  given  up;"  and  the 
young  farm-hand  held  out  a  rose-bud,  which  his  capacious  palm 
had  hitherto  concealed. 

**  Yes,  I  should  like  the  pretty  little  flower,"  said  Agnes  with 
undisguised  earnestness.  **  But  the  good  things  of  the  world  I  do 
not  care  for,  because  I  have  never  known  what  they  are." 

"  That's  just  about  it,"  remarked  Mr.  Small.  *'  If  you  only 
knowed  what  you  was  a  given*  up,  I  guess  you'd  think  better  of  it 
and  jump  t*  other  way  mighty  soon.  'T  ain't  in  human  natur'  to 
lead  such  a  life  as  you  Shakeresses  do,  unless  you're  old  enough 
to  be  disgusted  with  the  world,  or  too  young  to  know  nothin'  about 
it.  If  it  warn't  too  presumin',  I'd  like  to  ask  whether  you  don't 
never  have  a  leetle  hankering  after  the  world." 

**  I  have  been  a  Shakeress  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  I  ex- 
pect to  live  and  die  in  the  same  holy  order."  Agnes  spoke 

"  *T  ain't  right  that  such  things  be  so,*'  said  Jacob  Small  with  a 
softening  of  his  rude  manners  and  a  tenderness  of  tone  that  would 
never  have  been  expected  from  him.  **  Here  you  are  just  a  wastin' 
your  young  life,  where  you  can't  no  how  be  happy,  and  out  in  the 
big  world   there's  many  a  poor  fellow  sinking  into  a  good-for- 

nothing  wretch  for  the  want  of  a  wife  such  as  a  goud 
you  would  make.  Oh,  it's  all  wrong!  If  only  an  angel  like  you 
would  take  me  in  hand,  I  kind  o'  think,  I  might  be  more  of  a  man. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Sister  Agnes,  for  what  I  say  and  do ; "  and  sud- 
denly he  seized  the  Shakercss's  hand,  pressed  his  warm  lips  to  it, 
and  was  gone. 

Sister  Agnes  blushed  as  red  as  the  rose  in  her  hand,  while  she 
hastily  regained  her  room  ;  and  not  until  the  little  flower  was  hidden 
quite  away  and  the  brethren  and  sisters  began  to  come  home  from 
meeting,  did  her  ruby  cheeks  fade  to  their  usual  pallor.  Awak- 
ened by  the  sound  of  many  voices,  Polly  started  up  in  her  chair 


What  ■ 


"That  last  was  beautiful,  Agnes, 

As  the  days  and  the  summer  passed  by,  there  was  more  than  one 
occasion  for  Jacob  Small  to  exchange  a  few  words  witli  Sister 
Agnes.  But  it  was  never  more  tlian  a  very  few  words.  She  did 
not  seek  him,  but  neither  did  she  take  great  pains  to  avoid  him; 
and  he — if  be  did  not  seek  her,  it  certainly  looked  very  much  like 
it.  One  day  he  pleaded  indisposition  to  excuse  bis  leaving  the 
brethren  in  the  field;  but  when  he  saw  Sister  Agnes  carrying  a  pail 
of  water  toward  the  house,  he  recovered  at  once,  relieved  her  of 
the  pail,  and  talked  away  In  his  most  ingratiating  fashion.  One 
favorite  walk  she  used  to  take,  when  her  share  of  the  household 
work  was  done,  he  soon  found  out;  and  after  that  she  always  dis- 
covered a  pretty  little  flower,  such  as  never  grew  in  Shaker  ground, 
peeping  from  the  green  grass  and  inviting  her,  not  in  vain,  to  pick 
it  up.  If  ever  she  looked  from  her  window  in  the  evening,  she 
was  pretty  sure  to  notice  the  dark  figure  of  a  man  loitering  in  the 
shade  of  some  neighboring  building.  It  would  be  hard  to  describe 
the  growth  of  the  kindly  feeling  towards  the  young  farm-hand  that 
sprung  up  in  the  Shakeress's  heart.  Accustomed  to  work  hard, 
to  receive  no  thanks  for  it,  and  never  to  have  the  help  offered 
her,  it  was  a  new  and  delightful  experience  to  know  that  some  one 
stood  ever  ready  to  lighten  her  labors;  and,  contrasted  with  the 
sour  visage  and  harsh  words  of  the  Shaker  brethren,  Jacob's 
smiling  countenance  and  pleasant  words  were  very  attractive. 
Briefly.  Sister  Agnes  needed   love,  and   as  Jacob  Small   was   the 

i8o  STSTER    AGNES. 

only  one  to  offer  her  even  the  semblance  of  the  tender  passion» 
love  arose  between  them.  Such  an  event  was  so  utterly  inconceiv- 
able to  the  well-regulated  Shaker  mind,  that  never  was  there  the 
slightest  suspicion  of  it,  until  one  morning  in  the  late  autumn  the 
whole  community  was  astounded  to  learn  that  Jacob  Small  and 
Sister  Agnes  had  eloped  together  during  the  preceding  night. 

Two  years  later  the  winter  was  uncommonly  severe,  and  the  oldest 
inhabitants  of  a  small  manufacturing  town,  some  five  miles  distant 
from  the  peaceful  Shaker  community,  shook  their  hoary  heads  and 
solemnly  declared  that  never  before  in  all  their  time  had  they  seen 
the  like  of  such  cold  and  stormy  weather.  It  was  a  bitter  season 
of  trial  and  suffering  for  the  poor,  and  many  of  them  paid  the 
penalty  of  their  poverty  with  their  lives,  while  those  who  survived 
long  remembered  the  terrors  of  their  struggle  for  existence.  There 
was  an  old  three-story  wooden  house,  standing  alone  by  itself  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  which  looked  about  as  wretched  and 
God-forsaken  an  abode  as  ever  humanity  was  forced  to  occupy. 
Its  site  was  most  unfortunate ;  in  summer  the  stagnant  green  and 
festering  pools  around  made  it  a  nest  of  malaria;  and  in  win- 
ter it  was  so  open  and  exposed  to  icy  blasts  from  all  sides,  that  it 
was  a  wonder  man,  woman,  or  child  could  keep  from  freezing  to 
death  within  its  tumble-down  walls.  So  notorious  was  its  un- 
hcalthfulness,  that  even  the  poorest  of  the  poor  refused  to  risk 
their  lives  in  it,  and  its  owner,  without  income  from  his  invest- 
ment, would  have  been  glad  enough  to  see  his  miserable  tenement 
drop  to  pieces,  and  thus  relieve  him  of  paying  taxes  on  it.  But  it 
was  occupied  by  one  family  still.  In  a  cheerless  room  of  the 
upper  story  a  young  mother  was  trying  to  rock  her  baby  boy  to 
sleep  in  his  cradle.  An  empty  fireplace  and  an  empty  cupboard 
were  eloquent  of  cold  and  hunger,  and  the  direst  poverty  was  in- 
dicated by  the  scanty  furniture,  —  one  broken  chair  and,  in  the 
corner,  a  rickety  bed,  from  which  the  few  clothes  had  been  taken 
to  wrap  around  the  suffering  child.  The  poor  woman  wore  a 
singular  dress,  neat  though  sadly  patched,  of  a  soft  and  clinging 
lilac-colored  fabric,  with  many  plaits  in  the  skirt,  and  a  faded  silk 
handkerchief  came  over  her  shoulders  and  was  pinned  at  the 
waist,  so  that,  but  for  the  absence  of  the  stiff  white  cap,  she  would 
have  been  the  very  picture  of  a  Shakeress.     It  was  Sister  Agnes, 


two  years  older  in  actual  time,  but  twenty  years  older  in  appear- 
ance, from  the  wear  and  tear  ni  the  existence  she  had  gone 

The  day  was  dark  and  storm-threatening  and  intensely  cold  ;  a 
driving  wind  blew  savagely  around  the  old  house,  rattled  every 
window  furiously,  and  swooped  down  its  chimneys  and  through  its 
many  crevices  with  a  rush  and  a  roar  that  seemed  to  announce 
imminent  destruction.  When  now  and  then  the  blast  rose  to  a 
higher  pitch  and  shook  the  house  to  its  very  foundations,  the 
anxious  mother  trembled  with  alarm,  and  tucked  the  clothes  more 
closely  around  her  child.  She  did  not  mind  the  cold  for  herself, 
though  she  was  blue  and  quivering  with  it,  but  she  did  want  to 
keep  it  from  her  boy.  It  was  past  the  hour  of  noon,  but  as  the 
last  crusts  had  been  eaten  the  day  before,  mother  and  child  could 
only  fast  and  wait.  The  unhappy  child  uttered  a  piteous  wail 
from  time  to  time,  but  his  eyes  did  not  open,  and  he  seemed  lost 
in  that  restless  sort  of  slumber  with  which  merciful  nature  often 
dulls  hopeless  suffering. 

Sister  Agnes  sat  there  with  consciousness  of  the  present  and  all 
its  woes,  while  her  thoughts  were  busy  with  the  past.  All  the 
years  of  her  life  among  the  Shakers  rose  up  before  her  mind ;  one 
day  just  like  another  in  its  regular  round  of  easy  duties,  homely 
pleasures,  and  sincere  acts  of  worship ;  she  wondered  if  earth  had 
another  such  happy  home  as  that  neat  and  spacious  family  house 
which  was  always  so  delightfully  coo!  in  the  hottest  summer  and 
so  comfortably  warm  in  the  sharpest  winter;  and  the  rough  but 
honest  Shaker  brethren  and  the  kind  and  earnest  sisters  appeared 
to  her  now  as  angels  of  heaven,  compared  with  the  men  and  women 
of  the  world  she  had  since  met.  Why  had  she  ever  left  such  an 
earthly  paradise  ?  An  uneasy  movement  and  a  mournful  cry  from 
the  cradle  reminded  her  of  that  she  had  sought  for — love, 

Jacob  had  drawn  so  glowing  a  picture  of  the  happiness  that 
awaited  them  in  the  world  I  They  were  to  live  in  the  town,  while 
he  worked  and  saved  up  the  money  to  buy  them  a  home  and  a 
farm.  And  he  loved  her  so  much,  and  promised  to  love  her 
always  so  much,  that  her  heart  was  won.  Since  that  eventful 
night,  when  she  had  stolen  away  from  the  Shakers  to  be  united  in 
marriage  to  Jacob  Sniiill  by  the  minister  of  an  adjoining  village. 

i82  SISTER    AGNES, 

everything  had  gone  wrong.  Jacob  obtained  work  again  and 
again,  but  never  could  keep  it ;  for  his  convivial  tastes,  and  the  op- 
portunities of  indulging  them,  soon  developed  him  into  an  idle  and 
drunken  vagabond.  What  a  miserable  life  he  had  led  his  poor 
wife  !  Gladly  would  she  have  forgotten  her  sufferings  for  want  of 
the  commonest  necessities  of  life,  the  insults  and  blows  that  had 
been  heaped  upon  her,  but  she  could  not.  For  some  months  they 
had  lived  in  this  wretched  tenement,  but  as  they  had  not  yet  paid 
a  cent  of  rent,  formal  notice  had  been  sent  them  to  leave  it.  Two 
days  before,  Jacob  Small,  in  drunken  rage,  had  beaten  his  wife, 
threatened  to  kill  his  child,  and  then  had  gone  away,  declaring 
that  he  would  never  again  see  either  of  them.  Sister  Agnes  was  a 
deserted  wife. 

Between  the  sting  of  present  misery  and  the  remembrance  of 
past  happiness,  a  purpose  slowly  evolved  and  fixed  itself  in  her 
mind.  She  would  go  back  to  the  Shakers  with  her  child,  and  live 
and  die  among  them.  An  irresistible  longing  for  the  peace  of  her 
old  Shaker  home  moved  her  to  take  up  her  helpless  babe  and  fly 
from  the  world.  At  last  her  thoughts  embodied  themselves  in 
action.  She  hurriedly  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  wrapped  a 
blanket  round  her  child,  held  him  closely  to  her  breast,  and  de- 
scending the  creaking  stairs  and  stepping  out  into  the  cold  air,  she 
started  off  with  desperate  energy  to  walk  to  the  Shaker  settlement. 
The  way  was  well  enough  known  to  her,  and  she  felt  thankful  it 
did  not  go  through  the  town.  The  snow  of  past  storms  was  mod- 
erately deep  upon  the  road,  but  it  had  been  so  well  trodden  down 
by  passing  sleighs,  that  walking  was  only  excessively  tiresome,  not 
impossible.  She  walked  on,  weak  and  tired,  but  every  nerve  of 
her  body  was  strained  to  accomplish  the  task  before  her,  which 
was  to  assure  life  and  happiness  to  her  child.  The  wind  did  not 
blow  so  hard  now,  and  the  cold  was  not  so  intense,  though  the 
delicate  mother  noticed  no  improvement;  but  the  clouds  were 
shutting  down  darkly,  and  the  short  twilight  of  winter  was  evidently 
near  at  hand.  A  few  flakes  of  snow  fell,  then  they  came  thicker 
and  faster,  and  finally  their  ceaseless  energy  announced  that  an 
old-fashioned  storm  had  set  in.  The  baby  had  hitherto  been  quiet; 
now  a  flake  or  two  of  snow  upon  his  face  roused  him  and  caused 
him  to  cry  with  all  his  puny  strength.     His  mother  put  him  under 

S/STER    AGNES.  183 

her  threadbare  shawl,  where  the  snow  still  sought  and  found  him; 
she  clasped  him  more  closely  to  her  bosom ;  she  bent  down  her 
head  and  kissed  him  repeatedly ;  she  prayed  for  him ;  she  hushed 
him  and  sung  to  him  a  sad  mixture  of  lullaby  songs  and  Shaker 
hymns ;  but  he  continued  the  pitiful  cry  that  cut  her  to  the  heart, 
until  a  long  shudder  convulsed  his  little  frame,  and  he  was  still  and 
motionless.  All  the  time  Sister  Agnes  was  hurrying  on,  past  farm- 
houses, through  the  leafless  maple  woods  and  the  gloomy  pine 
forests,  and  it  was  only  marvellous  instinct  that  kept  her  from  go- 
ing astray  in  the  thick  darkness  and  the  blinding  snow.  The 
Shaker  settlement  was  reached  at  last.  She  struggled  through  the 
deepening  snow  up  to  the  great  house,  that  had  been  her  only 
home,  and  when  she  had  opened  the  door  and  entered  the  lighted 
room,  where  her  old  friend  Polly  and  the  other  Shakeresses  were 
gathered,  she  looked  down  and  saw  that  her  child  was  dead. 

For  many  years  afterwards  the  visitors  to  the  Shaker  community 
were  apt  to  carry  away  with  them  very  vivid  impressions  of  the 
school  they  had  seen  there,  and  not  a  few  of  them  wished  their 
own  children  could  attend  such  a  model  institution.  The  pupils 
of  this  school  were  neat  and  orderly  of  course,  and  they  were  re- 
markably bright  and  clever  in  their  studies,  but  most  wonderful  of 
all  was 'their  respectful  love  for  their  teacher — a  pale  and  unas- 
suming Shakeress,  answering  to  the  name  of  Sister  Agnes, — whose 
history  is  contained  in  these  few  pages. 




In  Easthampton,  where  agriculture,  education  and  manufactures 
are  conducted  with  some  prominence,  are  located  the  mills  of 
three  companies,  which  are  the  leading  producers  of  the  several 
kinds  of  goods  they  make.  These  are  covered  buttons,  rubber 
thread,  and  suspenders  and  other  elastic  goods.  Samuel  Willis- 
ton,  the  well-known  munificent  philanthropist,  founder  of  Williston 
Seminary,  was  the  leader  in  these  enterprises. 

Horatio  G.  Knight  commenced  with  Mr.  Williston  as  a  boy. 
Expecting  to  go  at  once  into  the  store  of  his  employer,  he  was 
set  to  work  in  a  garden.  Though  a  little  disappointed  and  dis- 
satisfied, he  has  since  said  he  did  the  work  the  best  he  could. 
Mr.  Williston  had  a  purpose  to  educate  him  in  the  schools,  but  he 
at  once  became  so  useful  that  he  could  not  be  spared  for  that  pur- 
pose. But  reading,  constant  contact  with  means  of  education,  a 
study  of  and  participation  in  affairs  of  importance,  with  travel  and 
observation  in  this  country  and  in  foreign  countries,  have  made 
him  a  man  of  unusual  general  intelligence.  Thirty-nine  years  ago, 
Williston  and  Knight  established  the  button  business  in  East- 
hampton. They  remained  partners  in  business  till  Mr.  Williston's 

It  fell  to  the  lot  of  Governor  Knight  to  buy  the  first  India 
rubber  and  the  first  elastic  fabric  looms  and  braiding  machines 
there  used.  During  that  long  and  intimate  association  in  busi- 
ness, the  names  of  Samuel  Williston  and  Horatio  G.  Knight  were 
suggestive  of  successful  business  integrity  and  enterprise.  The 
manufacture  of  goods  in  their  native  town,  and  in  connection  with 
it.  a  prosperous  selling  business  in  New  York,  both  during  the  life 
of  Mr.  Williston  and  since  his  death,  have  owed  much  to  the 
intelligent  energy  and  vitalizing  contact  of  Governor  Knight. 
His  success  is  the  result  of  constant,  systematic  and  intelligent 
diligence.  He  is  an  alert  man.  He  walks  fast,  works  and  thinks 
rapidly  and  well.  His  wiiting  is  uniformly  plain,  handsome,  and 
a  strong  hand.     Every  detail  of  his  business  is  in   exact  order. 


Haste  is  not  allowed  to  make  waste,  thougli  the  maximum  of  work 
is  done  in  the  minimum  of  time. 

The  personal  appearance  of  this  busy  man  is  always  attractively 
neat.  The  appearance  of  his  works  and  person  alike  indicate  that  he 
never  does  a  slovenly  thing.  With  an  even  and  placid  temper,  he 
thinks  and  speaks  well  of  others.  The  idea  that  men  are  famish- 
g  wolves  that  devour  each  other  never  entered  his  mind.  Nor 
he  a  man  of  neutral  color  who  makes  no  enemies;  and  yet  he 
an  agreeable  gentleman  and  a  kind  neighbor.  In  nothing  is 
Governor  Knight  more  commendable  than  in  the  spirit  of  helpful- 
ness to  others.  Few  men,  while  making  their  own  fortune,  have 
exhibited  so  little  of  the  too  common  spirit  which  might  be  ex- 
pressed in  the  phrase,  "Thou  shait  want  ere  I  want."  His 
direct  charities  have  been  large,  numerous,  and  constant,  but  that 
better  charity  of  helping  and  inspiring  men  to  help  themselves  has 
never  been  wanting.  A  community  has  relied  on  this  neighbor 
more  than  any  other  to  help  its  sons  to  just  what  they  needed  and 
might  honorably  accept, — permanent  positions  of  usefulness  and 
profit.  The  method  of  this  has  been  characterized  with  good 
sense  and  absence  of  claim  to  recognition. 

But  the  community  for  which  he  has  done  so  much  to  make  it 
as  a  whole — and  not  simply  a  few  favorites  in  it — prosperous  and 
happy,  always  lakes  pleasure  in  cclebratinghis  distinguished  merit 
A  larger  constituency,  also,  has  thought  it  worthy  to  pay  him 
particular  attention.  As  representative  to  the  general  court.  State 
senator,  member  of  the  Governor's  council,  and  as  Lieutenant- 
Governor  of  the  Commonwealth,  he  has  served  the  public  with 
ability  and  fidelity.  During  the  four  years  he  was  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  the  contract  was  made  under  which  the  Hoosac  Tunnel 
(in  the  progress  of  which  so  many  failures  had  resulted)  was  com- 
pleted, and  his  services  in  the  achievement  were  conspicuous. 

The  Committee  on  Pardons,  while  he  was  its  chairman,  passed 
upon  no  less  than  four  hundred  applications  for  pardon.  Ap- 
pointed by  Governor  Andrew  in  t862  sole  Draft-Commissioner 
for  Hampshire  County  to  raise  soldiers  for  the  Union  army, 
instead  of  drafting  he  aided  and  promoted  enlistment, —  paying 
thousands  of  dollars  therefor  from  his  own  pocket, — so  that  a 
draft  from  his  county  was  unnecessary.  Its  quota  was  filled  by 
enlistment.       By   the    appointment   of    Governor   Washburn   he 


attended  the  Vienna  Exposition  in  1873  as  one  of  the  Commis- 
sioners from  Massachusetts. 

In  all  these  stations,  as  in  the  offices  of  bank  president,  semin- 
ary and  college  trustee,  member  of  the  State  Board  of  Educa- 
tion, trustee  of  charitable  institutions,  and  in  a  position  that  may 
be  described  as  that  of  leading  citizen,  punctuality  and  regularity 
in  fully  meeting  the  duties  expected  of  him,  have  characterized 
him.  He  has  travelled  hundreds  of  miles  to  attend  a  town  meet- 
ing, or  to  vote.  He  is  now  serving  as  chairman  of  the  town 
school  committee. 

That  spirit  that  takes  pleasure  in  improvement — in  making  two 
blades  of  grass  grow  where  only  one  grew  before — he  possesses. 
Having  formed  a  village  improvement  society,  knowing  that  it 
would  not  prosper  by  faith  alone,  in  its  early  days  his  tall,  lithe 
figure  served  him  well  in  lopping  unsightly  limbs;  and  he  himself 
made  bonfires  of  the  rubbish  in  the  street.  For  the  time,  village 
improvement  was  his  vocation  and  his  example. 

We  have  been  told  often  enough  that  we  in  this  country  have 
no  aristocracy.  But  we  have  leading  men  —  men  who  lead. 
"They  are  able  because  they  seem  to  be  able."  They  give  tone 
and  direction  to  affairs.  A  community  not  servile  is  yet  impress- 
ible. A  spirit  of  liberality,  a  general  live  and  let  live  policy, 
shown  in  the  life  of  one  of  these  leaders  tends  to  suppress  selfish 
meanness  and  illibcrality.  There  is  quick  contagion  in  generous 
conduct;  and,  often,  the  retroactive  influence  of  one's  business 
principles,  illustrated  in  his  business  life,  is  of  inestimable  value. 
He  builds  better  than  he  knows.  This  has  proved  true  in  the 
career  of  the  subject  of  this  brief  sketch. 

The  button  business,  which,  under  his  management,  had  been 
very  profitable,  passed  in  full  prosperity  into  other  management. 
In  1883  it  disastrously  failed,  and  proved  to  have  been  completely 
wrecked.  The  most  of  his  considerable  fortune  was  lost  and  he 
was  greatly  embarrassed  financially.  The  reorganization  of  the 
business  seemed  impossible,  and  he  was  advised  by  sagacious  men 
not  to  undertake  it.  Rising  from  a  sick  bed  with  a  comprehen- 
sive plan  to  meet  his  own  and  the  company's  indebtedness,  he 
took  the  management  upon  himself  and  went  forth  to  win.  The 
great  thing  needful  was  confidence, — that  foundation  which  under- 
lies and  upholds  all  business. 


Was  there  confidence — business  confidence — that  he  in  his 
years  could  and  would  begin  again  and  succeed?  He  was  then 
sixty-four  years  old.  His  record  as  a  business  man  was  his  all. 
Creditors  met  him  with  his  own  spirit.  They  were  more  indul- 
gent than  he  asked.  New  capital  came  to  him  as  by  magic.  His 
reorganized  company  might  have  an  ample  capital  paid  in  to  do 
its  work  and  without  being  a  borrower.  He  eliminated  much,  and 
reorganized  on  the  old  successful  basis  with  himself  as  the 
managing  head ;  and  three  years  of  fine  prosperity  have  rewarded 
the  effort — and  that,  too,  when  business  generally  has  not  been 
profitable.  This  success  has  been  achieved  by  a  master-hand 
with  consummate  skill,  business  capacity  and  judgment.  It  was 
possible  only  by  reason  of  the  confidence  which  the  business  life 
of  this   man  of  business  had  inspired. 


BY  J.  B.  M.  WRIGHT. 

Up  in  the  dell  where  dewdrops  glisten, 
Floweth  the  stream,  a  silver  thread ; 

There  in  the  hush  of  eve  we  listen, 
To  bird-song  sweet  in  the  boughs  overhead. 

A  little  more, —  its  course  is  taken, 
Out  to  the  sun  and  the  summer  air, 

Over  the  meadow,  where  flowerets  waken, 
Dotting  the  green  with  blossoms  fair. 

Onward  still  to  the  winding  river. 
Under  tl]e  boughs  where  mosses  grow, 

Reeds  are  drooping  and  rushes  quivers- 
Mirrored  green  in  the  depths  below. 




Boston  has  become  famous  for  its  clubs,  as  much  so  in  its  way  as 
Paris  was  in  the  latter  days  of  Louis  Philippe.  They  are  all  of  them 
Saturday  afternoon  institutions,  and  range  in  their  scope  from  farming 
to  politics,  and  from  personal  devotion  to  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  for  its 
own  unadulterated  sake.  It  would  be  interesting  to  go  through  a  re- 
cital of  them.  As  a  rule,  tijcy  are  not  organized  in  a  clannish  spirit, 
and  still  there  is  an  undeniable  coloring  of  cHqueishness  in  them.  Per- 
haps it  could  not  very  well  be  otherwise.  Men  are  human  still,  and 
are  li4cely  long  to  remain  so.  At  every  meeting  of  these  clubs  there  are 
invited  guests  and  at  least  one  set  speech  or  elaborate  essay.  Generally 
it  is  on  somebody's  candidacy  for  public  office,  or  on  afiairs  of  State  or 
National  Government,  and  more  generally  somebody  feels  sure  that  the 
eflbrt  liits  him  higher  in  the  esteem,  if  not  of  those  who  listen,  yet  of 
those  who  read  him  as  reported.  There  is  no  harm  in  exercises  of  such 
a  character,  while  the  expression  of  views  on  many  subjects  becomes 
very  much  aerated. 

The  sociability  of  these  clubs  might  no  doubt  be  greatly  intensified, 
if  the  limits  of  the  topics  habitually  discussed  at  them  were  not  so  re- 
stricted. We  have  all  the  party  politics  we  require  already  ;  how  much 
it  were  to  be  wished  that  we  could  import  new  matter  into  our  wonted 
social  talk,  that  would  enlarge  instead  of  narrow  the  prevailing  feeling, 
and  call  out  the  best  and  freest  of  men's  inner  selves.  Not  politics 
wholly,  nor  business  wholly,  nor  literature  wholly,  nor  any  one  of  the 
staple  industries  wholly,  is  capable  of  filling  the  requirements  of  the 
time  ;  nevertheless,  the  mingling  experiences  of  men  variously  employed 
ought  to  yield  topics  enough  for  genuinely  social  and  intellectual  fruc- 
tification. At  present,  men  are  too  much  absorbed  in  the  purely  mate- 
rial ;  and  if,  now  and  then,  a  chord  is  struck  that  responds  with  a  dif- 
ferent sound,  it  is  still  very  apt  to  suggest  too  strongly  the  prolessional, 
if  not  the  pedantic.  So  we  go,  however,  all  the  same.  Evolution, 
with  its  mechanical  and  mysterious  processes  combined,  will  certainly 
help  us  out,  but  our  clubbable  days  may  by  that  time  all  be  over. 

The  President's  brief  speech  at  the  banquet  given  at  the  time  of  die 
memorial  celebration  of  Harvard  College  was  acknowledged  to  be  in 
the  most  fitting  phrase  and  admirable  spirit.  Under  the  circumstancetf 
it  was  not  an  easy  matter  for  him  to  decide  what  to  say,  more  tlMU| 

served  as  n  i 
>  argument  I 
Jucation  in  ^ 


wh»t  is  generally  Gaid,  in  response  I0  the  customary  lua&l  oflVred  in  sin- 
cere  complitnent  to  hia  high  office.  Naturally  he  recogni;!ed,  first,  the 
occasion  to  which  he  had  willingly  lent  his  official  presence,  and  finely 
remarked,  in  a  half-putliclic  strain  for  such  as  cotdd  so  see  it,  that  there 
exists  for  him  nowhere  an  alma  mater,  which  excited  in  him  a  feeling' 
of  ivgret  only  tempered  by  the  reassuring  kindliness  of  his  reception  ;_ 
and  he  recited  the  not  ton  familiar  fact  that  but  twelve  of  the  twenty- 
one  of  his  predecessors  had  the  advantage  of  a  collegiate  education. 
The  fact,  however,  he  reminded  his  collegiate  hcareis,  only  s 
proof  of  the  "  democratic  sense  of  our  people, 

"  against  the  supreme  value  of  the  best  and  most  liberal  education  i 
high  public  position." 

The  tribute  he  candidly  paid  to  learning  was  thoroughly  timely,  and 
in  excellent  taste  as  well.  "  The  disinclination" — said  lie — "  of  our 
best  men  of  education  to  mingle  in  political  matters,  thus  consequently 
leaving  all  political  activity  in  the  hands  of  those  who  have  hut  little 
respect  for  the  student  and  the  scholar  in  politics,  are  not  the  most 
favorable  conditions  under  a  government  such  as  ours."  He  thought  be 
"  saw  indications  that  in  the  future  the  thought  and  the  learning  of  the 
country  will  be  more  plainly  heard  in  the  expression  of  the  popular 
will."  Coming,  next,  to  the  more  salient  features  of  our  sjsttm  of 
government,  he  referred  to  his  own  office  to  illuslnite  most  slvikingly 
the  fact  of  the  nearness  of  the  people  to  their  President  and  all  their 
<ither  high  officials.  This  close  view  of  the  conduct  and  character  of 
those  to  whom  they  have  cntmstcd  their  interests  serves  as  a  regulator 
and  check  upon  the  pressure  and  temptation  in  official  place,  and 
teaches  "  that  diligence  and  faithfulness  are  the  true  measure  of  public 
duly."  This  topic  easily  led  the  President  to  the  comment  in  which  he 
indulged  on  a  slanderous  press. 

And  here  appeared  the  first  opening  for  criticism  on  his  speech. 
Some  thought  he  descended  from  the  dignity  of  his  position  to  indulge 
in  remarks  on  such  a  theme  at  all.  Some  considered  that  the  occasion 
warranted  no  such  exhibition  of  icelJng,  however  de6c^^'ed  his  criti- 
cism itseif  might  be.  Veiy  many  could  not  help  thinking,  whether 
ihcy  said  it  or  not,  that  such  a  concentrated  charge  of  denunciatory 
phrase  as  be  proceeded  to  bring  against  "certain  newspapers"  had  bet- 
ter be  brought,  if  at  all,  by  somebody  else  at  another  time.  We  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  the  precise  language  of  the  President  docs  not  make 
pleasant  reading  aller  Ihc  warmth  of  the  speaking  itself  is  abated.  It 
was  a  clouded  spot  on  a  speech  from  the  highest  official  in  the  land, 
made  on  as  august  an  occasion  as  could  occur  in  our  present  civiliza- 
tion, which  otherwise  would  have  been  accounted  the  perfection  of  pro-- 

Kjo  EI) [TOR'S   TABLE. 

prietv,  equipoise  and  impressiveness.  The  closing  portion  of  the 
lulflress  only  served  to  impurt  to  this  judgment  all  the  more  justice  and 
tbrce  from  the  fact  that  it  was  all  that  could  have  been  looked  fior  from 
a  man  of  the  highest  education. 

The  subject  of  "  Isms  " — supposed  to  be  indigenous  to  New  Eng*- 
Lmd —  is  continued  in  the  present  number  of  this  Magazine,  and  will 
proceed  in  due  course  through  the  entire  series.  Those  who  thought- 
fully read  the  analytic  ard  descriptive  paper  in  the  last  issue  could  not 
have  failed  to  become  freshly  interested  in  a  subject  of  which  it  may 
perhaps  be  said  that,  if  it  had  no  beginning,  neither  is  it  certain  to  have 
any  end.  Of  course  it  is  not  meant  by  this  that  there  is  likely  to  be  no 
limit  to  the  series  of  papers  themselves,  which  must  finally  come  in 
tiight ;  but  it  is  a  truth  that  there  can  be  no  end  to  the  speculations  of 
tlie  human  spirit,  and  as  fast  as  they  become  fashioned  into  schools. 
systems,  projects,  and  other  embodied  shapes,  they  challenge  the  com- 
mon attention  newly  and  enlist  concerted  action  in  different  degrees. 

The  papers  descriptive  of  the  differing  phases  of  "  Isms"  which  are 
making  their  appearance  in  these  pages  may  each  and  all  be  received 
:  s  the  exposition  of  genuine  experts  in  relation  to  them.  As  a  class. 
or  a  group,  they  cluster  like  ripening  fruit  on  the  boughs  of  the  vigor- 
ous tree  of  Transcendentalism,  transplanted  long  ago  to  our  receptive 
New  England  soil  and  atmosphere,  and  flourishing  nowhere  as  for  a 
time  it  flourished  at  philosophic  Concord.  The  of  the  noble 
men  and  who  became  early  disciples  of  Transcendentalism  have 
long  since  become  a  part  of  the  permanent  record  of  American  thought. 
They  were  brave  men  and  women,  too,  possessed  of  the  full  courage  of 
their  convictions.  They  lived,  they  wrought,  they  sacrificed,  in  obedi- 
ence to  the  clearer  light  with  which  thev  becam.e  illuminated.  The 
Dial  was  the  exponent  of  their  thinking  ;  Brock  Farm  was  die  embodi- 
ment cf  their  life  and  activity.  Both  may  be  pronounced  failures,  but 
that  all  depends  on  the  angle  cf  vision  occupied  by  the  beholder.  If  we 
believe,  as  we  certainlv  must,  that  neither  in  human  thought  nor  human 
etfort  is  anything  ever  lost,  then  we  are  bound  to  accept  the  appearance 
of  the  transcendental  spirit  amongst  us  with  gratitude  as  well  as 

While  the  whole  subject  of  mind-healing,  for  example,  may  be  re- 
fused hospitality  in  the  thoughts  of  those  who  either  will  not  reflect  or 
have  no  time  to  do  so,  it  is  certain  that  it  is  finding  lodgment  none  the 
less  in  other  minds,  and  for  some  unannounced  good.  At  any  rate,  so 
far  as  that,  or  the  faith-ciire,  or  any  other  Ism  tends  to  lift  people  out  of 
the  mire  of  materialism  up  to  the  leveb  of  spiritual  life,  it  cannot  but 



be  accounted  an  active  blessing,  come  in  what  guise  it  mny.  If  life  here 
has  any  meaning  which  it  is  worth  our  whiie  to  try  to  grasp,  it  must  be 
that  the  constant  struggle  phiced  before  us  as  its  naain  condition  is  one 
between  the  lower  and  the  higher  natures,  and  not  for  the  absolute  con- 
(]ucst  of  either  but  for  the  temporal  harmonization  of  both-  Yet  always 
for  the  spirit's  good,  else  there  would  be  no  higher  and  lower,  no  supe- 
rior and  subordinate.  If  we  may  not  too  rashly  embark  on  a  stream 
whose  flow  is  to  conduct  us  to  the  unknown  shores  of  an  unseen  life,  it 
is  still  permitted  us  to  throw  off,  in  the  gradations  of  our  experience, 
that  servitude  to  the  lower  nature  which  is  the  aim  and  end  of  our 
earthly  discipline. 

The  welcome  return  of  the  Christmas  Holidays  never  fails  to  set  all 
hearts  tingling  with  fresh  emotions  of  pleasure.  It  is  a  season  crowded 
with  social  delights  and  the  satisfactions  of  true  friendship.  Though 
necessarily  an  imported  observance,  it  is  hardly  the  less  indigenous  be- 
cause it  is  a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  observances  of  the  Christian  re- 
ligion. Wherever  that  goes,  Christmas  and  its  joys  go  with  it.  The 
religious  sentiment  born  of  Christmas  has  come  to  bear  many  kinds  of 
fruit,  but  all  aweet  and  wholesome.  Dedicated  as  it  instinctively  is  to 
childhood,  in  sacred  commemoration  of  Him  who  lay  in  a  manger,  it 
has  come  to  represent  all  fresh  and  new-born  feelings,  as  if  to  impress 
us  all  with  the  divine  fact  that  it  is  a  fitting  memorial  time  for  every  one 
to  be  born  i  nto  the  life  of  love  again.  And  so  innocent  and  merry  greet- 
ings are  given,  and  gifts  are  freely  exchanged,  and  hearts  that  were 
growing  cold  beat  warmly  again,  and  homes  and  churches  are  decorated 
with  living  green,  and  tables  groan  with  the  bounties  of  the  year  for  the 
happy  circles  that  sit  around,  and  the  bells  proclaim  "peace  and  good- 
will lo  man." 

There  is  a  commercial  side  to  the  picture,  too,  the  very  natund  evo- 
lution of  the  habit  of  gift-making  at  tliis  season.  It  breaks  out  in  all 
our  large  cities,  making  the  streets  suddenly  populous,  lighting  up  the 
showy  shop  windows  with  a  holiday  display,  and  pouring  fresh  currents 
of  life  into  the  channels  of  tntde.  All  this  imparts  an  unwonted 
vivacity  to  the  passing  season,  and  signalizes  it  as  something  wholly 
different,  and  always  pleasingly  so,  from  the  rest  of  the  year.  The 
dealers  in  all  sorts  of  manufactured  things,  from  ingenious  toys  to 
splendidly  illustrated  volumes,  and  from  seasonable  garments  to  bril- 
liants in  exquisite  settings,  come  foi'ward  to  announce  in  preternatural 
typography  the  abundance  of  the  riches  they  have  in  store  for  gratifying 
the  sentiments  of  the  gift-givers.  It  is  high  carnival  for  both  parties  to 
the  delicious  evcilement,  and  they  celebrate  its  Beeting  hours  with  a 



zest  that  is  marked  with  an  annual  renewal.  And  this  is  the  Holiday 
Season  that  is  just  at  hand.  Let  none  of  us  fail  to  greet  its  welcome 
coming  with  all  the  sincerity  of  childhood  itself,  to  whose  innocent  en^ 
joyment  it  is  confessedly  dedicated. 

It  may  be  said  without  coloring  it  at  all  that  Dr.  McCosh's  conduct 
at  the  Harvard  anniversary  celebration  was  a  Jiasco.  He  abruptly  left 
the  commemorating  company  because  he  fancied  Princeton  College  to 
have  been  purposely  slighted  in  the  distribution  of  honorary  titles,  and 
his  recognized  friends  are  willing  to  add  that  he  felt  hardly  less  af- 
fronted by  the  allusion  made  to  Princeton  by  the  venerable  Dr.  Holmes 
in  his  poetic  address.  Without  venturing  to  enter  upon  any  discussion 
of  the  points  of  the  case  at  all,  it  ought  certainly  to  be  enough  to 
remark  that  other  men,  of  not  less  merit  and  distinction  than  himself, 
sat  patiently  and  good-humoredly  by  and  saw  their  idols  one  by  one 
dethroned,  without  a  thought  of  wiping  the  dust  from  their  shoes  at  the 
door  of  exit,  and  filled  only  with  admiration  for  the  courteous  courage 
with  which  the  men  of  Harvard  have  long  since  learned  to  give  free 
utterance  to  their  opinions.  The  daily  journals  are  making  much  of 
this  unseemly  display  of  what  at  least  may  be  called  hasty  temper,  and 
the  more  they  work  at  explanation  the  more  ridiculous  the  whole  mat- 
ter is  made  to  appear. 

The  dissolution  of  the  present  Canadian  federation  is  believed  to  be 
impending.  There  are  numerous  causes  for  such  an  event,  which  taken 
together  would  seem  to  be  suflficient.  The  confederation  bonds  at  best 
have  always  been  light  and  fragile.  It  has  long  been  a  notorious  fact 
that  a  number  of  the  provinces  have  been  weary  of  the  existing  union, 
and  impatient  of  the  yoke  of  the  one-man  power  and  the  mockery  of  a 
court  which  it  imposed.  There  are,  in  fact,  two  distinct  nationalities 
in  Canada,  whose  political  blending  must  always  prove  as  difficult  as 
that  of  their  social  and  religious  unity.  Then  the  economic  views  of 
the  different  component  provinces  are  irreconcilably  variant.  The  pro- 
tective interests  openly  clash  with  those  of  a  freer  trade  with  our  own 
and  other  countries.  One  section  is  purely  commercial  and  devoted  to 
navigation  and  fishing,  while  another  is  given  up  to  farming.  The 
outlet  for  the  great  railway  line  which  traverses  the  Dominion  is  another 
standing  cause  of  contention.  And  an  intestine  war  of  races  may  be 
counted  on  with  almost  perfect  certainty.  So  that,  taken  in  all  its 
aspects,  the  case  of  the  Canadian  federation  may  be  thought  an  un- 
promising one  indeed. 


There  will  always  be  histories  and  histories.  The  reason  why 
reflective  readers  of  history  like  to  have  large  groups  of  facts,  and 
lengthened  arcs  of  people's  conduct,  and  wider  relations  of  events  pre- 
sented to  them,  is  that  they  grow  tired  of  this  habitual  short-sighted- 
ness in  looking  at  things,  and  long  to  be  taken  to  an  elevated  position 
where  they  can  escape  from  the  perpetual  present  and  see  some  of  its 
relations  to  the  past  and  future.  It  is  for  just  such  a  reason  that  history 
writing  will  never  cease  while  man  inhabits  the  planet.  If  Macaulay 
was  inspired  with  a  love  of  details  and  what  was  popular,  Guizot  pre- 
sented human  actions  philosophically.  The  one  painted,  the  other  was 
a  sculptor.  And  so  this  historian  takes  us  into  a  gallery,  and  that  one 
makes  us  look  down  a  vista ;  one  is  an  advocate,  another  is  a  judge. 
All  are  useful,  each  in  his  chosen  way ;  but  it  is  the  one  who  classifies 
human  experience,  and  brings  all  things  under  rule,  and  threads  events 
on  a  recognized  and  visible  law,  that  keeps  the  field  longest.  He  is 
the  century-living  oak  among  the  lindens,  and  birches,  and  willows. 
He  clears  up  the  confusion  and  establishes  order.  The  reader  is  able 
for  the  first  time  to  discern  the  connection  of  epochs  and  ages.  The 
sketch,  however,  must  be  no  mere  outline,  without  clothing  or  color, 
but  cosmic;  bringing  events  into  logical  as  well  as  living  relations;  a 
picture  of  progress  by  the  course  of  regular  development ;  philosophy, 
in  fact,  opening  its  storehouse  of  examples. 


Rev.  George  E.  Ellis,  D.  D.,  LL.  D.  ,  the  President  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Historical  Society,  delivered  the  annual  address  before  the  New 
York  Historical  Society,  on  the  occasion  of  its  82d  anniversary,  on  the 
evening  of  November  16.  Among  the  men  of  note  present  were  Gen- 
eral W.T  .  Sherman,  Rev.  Dr.  CoUyer,  and  Hon.  John  Jay. 

An  old  $50  five  per  cent.  United  States  bond,  issued  under  the  act  of 
March  3d,  1864,  has  just  been  presented  for  redemption  at  the  Treasury 
Department.  The  wording  of  the  bond  provides  that  all  bonds  of  the 
same  issue  shall  be  payable  forty  years  after  date,  with  an  option  to  the 
Government  of  redemption  any  time  after  the  expiration  of  two  years. 
The  bond  in  question  was  embraced  in  a  call  made  in  1879,  and  has 
now  been  presented  with  all  the  coupons  detached.  It  is  decided  by 
the  comptroller  that,  as  the  nominal  value  of  the  unmatured  detached 
coupons  is  greater  than  the  face  value  of  the  bond  itself,  the  bond  can- 
not be  redeemed  until  such  coupons  shall  have  been  presented. 


At  the  last  monthly  meeting  of  the  Massachusetts  Historical  Society^ 
over  which  President  George  E.  Ellis,  D.  D.,  presided,  Hon.  George 
F.  Hoar  was  elected  a  resident  member  of  the  Society,  and  Prof.  Alex- 
ander Johnson  of  the  College  of  New  Jersey  was  chosen  a  correspond 
ing  member.  Judge  Chamberlain  presented  a  diary  of  Capt.  Henry 
Dearborn,  extending  from  July  25,  1776  to  June  16,  1778,  being  a  con* 
tinuation  of  his  journal  during  the  Quebec  expedition  of  1775,  the 
original  of  which  is  preserved  in  the  Boston  Public  Library.  Mr. 
Deane  exhibited  the  original  will  of  Peregrine  White,  who  was  bom  on 
board  the  Mayflower  in  Cape  Cod  harbor,  in  November,  1620,  and  to 
whom  the  Court  granted,  in  1665,  two  hundred  acres  of  land  "  in  re- 
spect that  he  was  the  first  of  the  English  bom  in  these  parts."  The 
will  is  in  a  fine  state  of  preservation,  and  bears  the  date  of  July  14^ 

Mr.  A.  B.  Ellis  read  a  paper  on  Sharples's  portraits  of  Washington^ 
the  circumstances  of  the  painting  of  which  were  recited  in  detail,  and. 
which  are  of  extreme  interest.  These  two  portraits  of  Washington 
and  Martha  Washington  are  asserted  to  perpetuate  a  truer  likeness  of 
their  subjects. than  the  better  known  portraits  by  Gilbert  Stuart.  They 
were  both  on  exhibition  at  the  gallery  of  Williams  &  Everett  in  this 
city,  where  they  were  inspected  by  throngs  of  interested  visitors.  The 
portrait  of  Mary,  the  mother  of  Washington,  was  exhibited  with  them.. 

Dr.  Ellis,  the  President  of  the  society,  spoke  of  the  recent  commem- 
oration of  the  250th  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  Harvard  College, 
saying  that  the  society  took  no  second  place  in  welcoming  and  in  shar- 
ing, through  its  members,  the  delightful  observances  of  the  occasion. 
Three-fourths  of  the  members  of  the  society  are  graduates  in  its  classes. 
The  society  loaned  to  the  college  for  the  occasion  the  President  of  the 
University,  the  Orator  and  the  Poet,  the  President  of  the  Association  of 
the  Alumni,  the  cliief  marshal  and  many  of  his  aids.  He  also  alluded 
eulogist ically  to  the  presence  of  Hon.  Robert  C.  Winthrop  at  the  com- 
memoration, and  pronounced  it  to  be  especially  fitting  that  the  Chief 
Magistrate  of  the  nation  should  have  come  to  see  and  hear  and  share  in 
the  grateful  and  elevating  influences  of  the  occasion.  Dr.  Ellis  made 
descriptive  reference  to  the  Washington  portraits  then  in  the  city,  and 
discussed  their  claims  to  supersede  the  hitherto  universally  accepted 
portraits  of  Washington  by  Stuart. 

The  250th  anniversary  of  the  foundation  of  Harvard  College  waa 
commemorated   in  an  elaborate  manner  on  the  5th,  6th,  7th  and  Stfa 


days  of  November.  All  graduates  of  Harvard  were  invited,  besides 
the  Presidents  of  other  Colleges,  and  the  President  of  the  United  States 
and  his  Cabinet  Nearly  2500  graduates  registered  as  present  and  re- 
sponding. The  first  day  was  given  up  to  a  general  meeting  of  the 
Harvard  Law  School  Association,  the  members  of  which  listened  to  an 
oration  by  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  Jr.,  and  afterwards  sat  down  to 
dinner  together.  The  second  day,  Saturday,  was  under-graduates*  day. 
It  was  celebrated  with  a  morning  boat-race,  literary  exercises  in  Sanders 
Theatre,  a  game  of  football,  and  a  torch-light  parade  in  the  evening 
with  supplementary  fireworks.  College  characteristics  and  unique  cos- 
tumes formed  the  features  of  the  parade.  Former  students  of  the 
Lawrence  Scientific  School  likewise  held  a  reunion,  and  the  Observa- 
tory was  open  to  public  view.  Sunday,  the  third  day,  was  celebrated 
as  the  anniversary  of  the  actual  foundation  day.  Commemorative  ex- 
ercises were  held  in  Appleton  Chapel,  morning  and  evening.  A  num- 
ber of  distinguished  men  of  Han-ard  and  other  colleges  participated. 
Monday,  the  fourth  day,  was  Alumni  day.  Graduates  and  invited 
guests,  the  President  ot  the  United  States  being  among  the  latter,  list- 
ened to  an  address  by  James  Russell  Lowell  and  a  poem  by  Oliver  Wen- 
dell Holmes,  after  which  honorary  degrees  were  conferred  by  the 
University.  A  collation  was  subsequently  served  in  Memorial  Hall,  at 
which  the  President  made  a  speech,  elsewhere  noted.  The  Museum 
of  Comparative  Zoology,  the  Pcahody  Museum  of  American  Arch- 
jEology  and  Ethnology,  and  the  \So\  Iston  Hall  mineral  cabinet  were 
opened  to  visitors  during  the  four  days  of  commemoration.  The 
programme  was  successfully  carried  out  to  its  end. 


Ex-President  Chester  Alan  Arthur  died  at  his  residence  in  New 
York  City  on  the  morning  of  November  18,  aged  56  years.  For  some 
time  past  he  had  been  suffering  from  a  complication  of  diseases,  chiefly 
kidney  affection.  After  having  passed  the  Summer  at  a  watering  place 
on  Long  Island  Sound,  he  was  considered  improved  in  health,  yet  his 
family  and  intimate  friends  were  apprehensive  of  his  demise  in  case  of 
any  sudden  assertion  of  the  rallying  force  of  his  complaint.  He  finally 
died  of  cerebral  apoplexy,  after  being  a  whole  day  and  night  in  a  state 
of  unconsciousness.  President  Arthur  was  born  in  Fairfield,  Vt., 
October  5,  1830,  his  father  being  a  Baptist  clergyman.  He  was  a 
graduate  of  Union  College,  and  subsequently  went  to  New  York  and 
entered  the  law  office  of  Judge  Culver,  whose  partner  he  afterwards 


became.  He  was  appointed  quartermaster-general  in  New  York  City 
at  the  opening  of  the  war,  and  General  Grant,  on  becoming  President, 
app  >inted  him  collector  of  the  port  of  New  York,  in  which  office  he 
continued  for  eight  years.  In  iSSo  he  was  nominated  by  the  national 
convention  of  his  party  on  the  same  presidential  ticket  with  General 
Garfield,  as  Vice-President,' and  was  elected.  The  assassination  of 
President  Garfield  raised  him  to  the  presidential  chair,  and  he  adminis- 
tered the  afiaiis  of  the  government  with  dignity  and  grace,  although  his 
administration  was  marked  by  no  executive  acts  of  special  note  and  was 
free  from  any  of  those  events  which  had  excited  die  hopes  and  feelings 
of  tlie  countn'.  The  remains  of  the  late  ex-President  were  interred  in 
Rural  Cemeten',  between  Albany  and  Troy. 

Charles  Francis  Adams  died  at  his  winter  residence  in  Boston  on  the 
morning  of  November  2ist,  in  the  Soth  year  of  his  age.  He  was  the 
third  iiow  of  John  Qiiincy  Adams,  and  the  grandson  of  John  Adams, 
lx)th  of  whom  were  Presidents  of  the  United  States.  He  lived  abroad 
in  his  youth  with  his  father,  and  on  coming  home  pursued  his  studies 
ur.til  he  became  a  graduate  cf  Harvard  College  in  1825.  He  subse- 
<|ucnlly  studied  law,  but  never  entered  on  its  practice.  He  was  at  one 
time  a  member  of  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  after  several  jears  a 
member  of  Congress,  and  was  appoi:itcd  minister  t  j  England  by  Presi- 
dent Lincoln  in  1S61.  In  this  important  iX)sition  he  performed  service 
for  his  country  which  will  ever  remain  a  part  of  its  histor\'.  His  ad- 
mirable judgement,  tact,  coolness,  and  ability',  reenforced  by  his 
watchfulness,  without  doubt  prevented  the  open  support  of  the  cause  of 
the  Southern  Confederacy  by  Great  Britiin.  After  his  return  from 
England  he  was  made  one  of  the  board  of  arbitration  for  the  settlement 
of  the  Alabama  claims.  He  ran  as  a  candidate  for  Govenor  of  Massa- 
chusetts in  1S75.  He  was  in  the  best  sense  a  statesman,  for  which  he 
was  eminently  qualified  by  his  habitual  studies  and  pursuits. 

Judge  George  L.  RuflBn  died  in  Boston  November  19.  He  was  a 
colored  man,  born  of  free  parents  in  Richmond,  Va.  His  mother 
brousrht  her  ei^jht  children  to  Massachusetts  to  educate  them.  After  a 
time  Judge  RuflBn  studied  law,  and  was  a  well-known  practitioner  at 
the  Suffolk  Bar.  He  was  apjK)inted  judge  of  the  municipal  court  in 
Charlestown,  and  was  the  first  colored  judge  in  Massachusetts. 

Dr.  Luther  Parks  died  at  Pau,  France,  November  19,  at  the  age  of 
i^ixty-three.  He  had  been  a  Boston  physician,  having  been  bom  in  this 
cit>\  and  graduated  at  Harvard  College,  in  1S43. 


Joseph  Peabody  died  November  21st,  at  Lowell.  He  was  a  native  of 
Middleton,  Mass.,  scholar  of  Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  a  school 
teacher  in  Lynn  for  fifteen  years,  and  subsequendy  the  principal  of  the 
Moody  School,  Lowell,  for  twenty-five  years. 


Hon.  Charles  B.  Hoard,  of  West  Virginia,  died  November  20th,  at 
the  age  of  81  years.  He  was  a  native  of  Springfield,  Vt.,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  tlie  35th  and  36th  Congresses  from  the  23d  district  of  New 


Hon.  Thomas  W.  Gillis  died  in  Milford,  N.  H.,  November  20th, 
aged  80 years  and  8  months.  He  was  born  in  Deering,  N.  H.,  but  went 
to  Nashua  in  early  life,  where  he  rose  to  be  agent  of  the  Nashua  Manu- 
facturing Company,  and  so  continued  for  18  years.  He  held  various 
positions  of  trust  and  honor. 

Major  liEwis  Allen  died  at  Peabody,  Mass.,  on  the  i6th  of  Nov- 
ember, aged  82  years  and  5  months.  He  was  born  in  Weston,  Mass., 
and  went  to  South  Dan  vers  in  1817,  and  engaged  in  the  manufacture  of 
shoes.  When  but  nineteen  years  old  he  saw  by  chance  a  pair  of  pegged 
shoes,  and  on  returning  home  made  a  pair,  whittling  out  each  peg  he 
drove  into  them.  Four  days  after  he  became  21  years  old,  ho  began 
business  for  himself  on  a  capital  of  only  fifty  dollars.  For  over  forty 
years  he  was  president  of  Warren  Bank,  and  one  of  the  oldest  Masons 
in  town. 


Hon.  Russell  B.  Wiggin  died  on  Sunday,  November  14th,  at  his 
home  in  Maiden,  Mass.  He  was  a  native  of  Dover,  N.  H.,  and  a 
member  at  one  time  of  the  New  Hampshire  Legislature ;  also  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Masonic  Lodge  and  Royal  Arch  Chapter,  in  Dover.  He 
established  the  extensive  flint  and  sandpaper  manufactory  at  Edge- 
worth,  Mass.,  the  firm  of  Wiggins  &  Stevens  being  well-known 
throughout  the  country. 


Duty  Place,  the  oldest  man  in  Gloucester,  Mass.,  farmer  and 
business  man,  died  November  13th,  at  the  age  of  102  years,  11 
months,  and  13  days. 


Mr.  John  Dougherty,  the  inventor  of  the  portable  iron  section 
boat,  and  the  suggestor  of  the  route  of  the  Pennsylvania  railroad,  died 
at  Pittsburg,  Pa.,  November  12th.  He  had  been  a  millionaire,  but 
died  poor  at  last. 


Judge  William  Ritchie  Whitaker,  a  native  of  Boston,  and  fom- 

eriy  of  New  Orleans,  La.,  died  at  Monticello,  Wis.,  November  13th. 

lie  had  l)een  collector  and  sub- treasurer  in  New  Orleans,  and  judge  of 

the  superior  court,  and  been  prominent  in  journalism.     He  was  an 

active  Freemason.     His  remains  are  to  be  interred  in  Boston. 

•  « 

Dr.  James  O.  Moore,  a  native  of  Parsonsfield,  Me.,  died  at  his 
residence  in  Haverhill,  Mass.,  November  i6th.  He  became  a  homceop- 
athist  in  1S49,  '^"^  settled  at  Saco,  Me.  After  the  breaking  out  of  the 
civil  war  he  was  app<^)inted  surp^eon  of  the  TwentA--second  regiment 
United  States  colored  troops  in  1864.  He  was  a  member  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts HonKropathic  Medical  Society,  and  for  many  years  a  mem- 
ber of  the  school  board. 

«   • 

William  H.  Loni;,  formerly  master  of  the-  Dearborn  Skhool,  Rox- 
bury,  Mass.,  died  i;t  his  home  in  Roxbury,  November  5,  at  the  age  of 
seventy -three.  He  was  a  native  of  Hopkinton,  N.  H.,  a  graduate  of 
Yale  College  in  1840,  and  subsequently  studied  theology-.  Owing  to  a 
vocal  difficulty  he  never  preached,  but  entered  on  the  profession  of 
teaching  in  the  old  Washington  School  of  Roxbury,  and  took  charge 
of  the  Dearlx)rn  School  in  1S52,  continuing  to  hold  the  master's  posi- 
tion for  thirtv  vears,  resijrninj:  it  in  1SS2.  Thirtv  of  the  teachers  who 
have  bjen  associated  with  him  at  different  periods  are  stiil  in  active 
6er\ice  in  Roxburv. 

Capt.  Frank  C.  Homer,  of  the  Boston  and  Bangor  Steamship 
Company,  died  in  early  November.  He  had  l)een  a  steamboat  man 
thirty-five  years,  and  was  last  captain  of  the  steamer  Katahdin. 

*   « 

Mr.  Washix(;tox  H.  Amsden,  a  prominent  citizen  of  Athol,  Mass., 
died  November  3.  He  was  born  in  Dana,  Mass.,  in  1S25,  and  spent 
his  life  as  a  public  ser\'ant. 

«   • 

Capt.  Thomas  Ferxkv,  a  native  of  Nantucket,  Mass.,  and  a  mem- 
ber of  the  United  States  Coast  Sur\ey  Ser\ice,  died  in  Washington, D, 
C,  November  loth.  He  had  ]>een  in  command  of  government  vessels 
since  the  rebellion. 

Samuel  H.  Colby  died  at  Weare.  N.  H.,  on  the  loth  of  November, 
at  the  age  of  ninety-two  years.  He  had  been  a  representative  in  the 
State  I-egislature  during  his  life. 


Deacon  Charles  Drew,  of  Fairhaven,  Mass.,  died  on  the  loth  of 
November,  at  the  age  of  eighty-five.  He  was  a  native  of  Fairhaven, 
and  had  been  educated  for  the  ministry,  but  owing  to  ill-health  he 
entered  on  a  business  life  in  Boston.  He  subsequently  returned  to  his 
native  town,  and  succeeded  his  father  as  postmaster.  He  likewise 
represented  the  town  in  the  Legislature,  and  for  thirty  years  was  clerk 
and  treasurer  of  the  Fairhaven  Institution  for  Savings. 


In  the  set  of  16  mo.  volumes  entitled  Humorous  Masterpieces  from 
American  Literature,^  we  have  a  collection  of  the  most  amusing  liter- 
ary efforts  of  our  American  authors.  The  three  volumes  include  selec- 
tions from  nearly  all  our  eminent  authors  —  from  Washington  Irving  to 
Frank  Stockton  —  the  broad  absurdities  of  Artemus  Ward  and  the 
polished  shafts  of  Burdette,  with  pieces  from  the  more  dignified 
writers  —  doubly  effective  when  they  relax  into  humor;  also  many  ex- 
amples from  feminine  authors,  whose  buds  of  delicate  wit  sometimes 
bloom  into  pieces  of  humor  most  demure  and  excellent.  Here  arc 
selections  suited  to  parlor  reading  or  to  public  recitation,  —  for  profes- 
sional elocutionist,  and  for  school  girls  and  boys ;  while  the  silent 
reader  will  find  in  any  portion  of  the  volumes  matter  both  entertaining 
and  restful. 

Cassell's  National  Library,  edited  by  Professor  Henry  Morley, 
is  being  increased  by  Shakspeare's  plays,  of  which  the  familiar 
Macbeth-  (constituting  No.  39 of  Vol.  I.),  lies  before  us.  Though  small 
enough  for  the  average  pocket,  this,  like  the  other  volumes,  is  printed 
in  type  of  medium  size  on  good  paper. 

A  HALF-DOZEN  obloug  little  volumcs.  Called  "The  Pearl  Series,*'' 
bound  in  blue  floriated  cloth  with  gilt  lettering  and  enclosed  in  a 
neat  box  of  gold-surfaced  paper,  constitute  a  pretty  and  convenient 
librar}'  of  choice  selections  in  prose  and  verse,  under  the  heads,  for 
the  several  volumes,  of  Reflection,  Wit  and  Humor,  Fancy,  Faith, 
Hope   and    Charity,    Love,    and   the    Poet's  Garden. 

1  New  York ;  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons  ;  I3.75. 

2  Cassell  &  Company,  New  York  ;  paper,  pp.  192 ;  I3  a  year ;  single  number,  10  cents. 

3  G.  r.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York. 


Of  St.  Nicholas*  the  London  Times  has  said,  "  We  have  nothing 
like  it  on  this  side."  Some  leading  features  of  this  popular  juvenile  for 
1SS6-7  are  several  stories  by  Louisa  M.  Alcott  and  Frank  Stockton ;  a 
short  serial  story  by  Mrs.  Burnett ;  a  story  of  Mexican  Life,  by  Frances 
Courtenay  Baylor ;  war  stories  for  boys  and  girls,  by  Gen.  Adam 
Badeau  ;  also  numerous  short  stories  from  old  and  new  contributors. 

*  * 

The  design  on  the  front  cover  of  Wide  Awake,"  showing  rosy  leaves 
falling,  would  indicate  the  season  of  the  year  without  the  imprint, 
November.  This  number  has  a  fine  historical  article  relating  to  Poca- 
hontas and  the  Rolfes  of  Heacham  Hall,  England, — illustrated  by  an 
engraving  from  a  painting  of  that  Indian  Princess  and  her  little  son. 
Besides  the  three  serial  stories,  which  are  concluded  in  this  number,  it 
contains  some  delightful  short  stories  and  poems,  while  there  are 
numerous  attractive  illustrations. 

The  suplement  to  The  Atlantic  Monthly*^  for  December  greatly  en- 
hances the  value  of  the  number,  as  it  contains  Dr.  Holmes'  poem  and 
Mr.  LowelTs  oration,  delivered  on  the  occasion  of  the  250th  anniver- 
sary of  Harvard  University.  In  the  regular  pages  are  "' The  Strange 
Slor^'  of  Pragtina," — the  most  interesting  study  of  Eastern  occult  sci- 
et.cti  that  has  appeared  lately ;  a  paper  by  the  late  Elisha  Mulford  on 
*••  The  object  of  a  University  ;"  an  amusing  yet  careful  criticism  of 
*'  The  Church  of  England  Novel,"  by  Miss  Harriet  W.  Preston ;  *'  Up 
the  Neva  to  SchlUsselburg," —  a  travel  paper  of  much  interest,  by 
Edmund  Noble  ;  a  paper  by  Maria  Louise  Henr}'  on  Mazzini,  and  a 
political  article  on  ''"  The  Dream  of  Russia."  There  are  poems  by 
Helen  Gray  Cone,  Louise  Imogen  Guiney  and  Julia  C.  R.  Dorr. 
Miss  Murfree's  "'  In  the  Clouds"  and  Mr.  Bishop's  '*  Golden  Justice" 
are  brousrht  to  a  conclusion.     The  number  is  an  attractive  one. 

*  * 

The  collapse  of  the  recent  projected  invasion  of  Mexico  by  a  pack 
of  desperadoes  incited  by  a  contemptible  schemer  cannot  fail  to  gratify 
ever)r'  good  citizen  ;  but  the  subject  of  the  volume  before  us,*  as  it  was 
a  movement  of  larger  views  by  a  leader  of  elevated  p>ersonal  char- 
acter and  splendid  courage,  will  command  a  degree  of  admiration  at 

1  St.  Nicholas.  The  Century  Co.,  New  York,  Yearly  subMrription,  ^3;  single  number,  sscenta. 

2  D.  Lothrop  &  Co.  publishers ;  I3  a  year,  single  number  25  cents. 

3  Boston  ;  Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.  54  00  a  year  ;  single  number  35  cents. 

4  Reminiscences  of  the  "Filibuster"  War  in  Nicaragua,  by  C.  W.  Doubleday.  New  York  and 
London;  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons:  I1.25. 



the  same  time  that  it  meets  with  our  ilecicleJ  disapproval.  A  large 
number  of  readers  hesidt;  those  affected  by  Walker's  filibustering  opera- 
tions will  be  interested  in  the  narrative  of  those  in  Nicaragua,  from  the 
pen  of  C.  W.  Doubleday,  —  who  was  personally  associated  with  Gen- 
eral Walker  in  the  early  part  of  this  in^ 

The  Magazine  of  Art'  for  December  opens  the  new  volume,  and 
makes  an  advance  from  its  former  excellence.  In  turning  over  the 
pages  one  is  surprised  at  the  amount  of  color  and  variety  of  form  which 
meet  the  eye  in  its  illustrations.  The  chief  articles  are  on  Van 
Haanen  and  his  art,  an  Outside  View  of  the  South  Kensington 
Museum,  Old  Blue  and  White  Nankeen  China,  Some  Historic  Gloves, 
the  National  Art  Exhibition,  Art  in  New  Zealand,  Art  Notes,  etc. 
There  are  five  fulbpage  engravings,  and  a  total  of  thirty-three  illustra- 
tions, exclusive  of  vignettes,  etc. 

Another  new  theory  of  the  creation  comes  to  us  in  Professor  Vail's 
book  on  the  Earth's  Annular  Sysieiii.''  The  author  admits  that  the 
reader  must  first  divest  himself  of  pre-conceived  opinions.  At  the 
very  start  he  will  be  struck  with  the  originality  of  the  whole  theory. 
The  thought  that  the  earth  existed  for  ages  under  the  influence  of  a  sys- 
tem of  perpetually  declining,  saturn-like  rings  is  a  fascinating  one.  In 
brief,  the  claims  are  set  forth  that  the  earth,  from  the  earliest  time  to 
the  close  of  the  Noachian  deluge,  was  surrounded  by  rings  of  aqueous 
vapors,  commingled  with  much  of  the  solid  matter  now  composing  its 
crust;  that  the  coal  and  many  other  formations  of  the  entire  earth  fell 
to  its  surface  from  these  rings  ;  that  mountain  upheavals  occurred  imme- 
diately after  such  baptisms  ;  that  the  falling  of  these  rings  to  the  earth 
somewhat  weakened  the  attraction  of  (he  moon,  which  therefore  re- 
ceded from  the  earth  ;  that  the  downfall  of  these  rings  of  aqueous 
vapor  necessarily  took  place  chiefly  in  the  polar  regions,  and  falling 
there  as  snow  caused  all  the  glacial  periods  of  geologic  times.  It 
would  be  strange  if  the  finite  powers  of  man  should  already  have 
constructed  a  faultless  cosmology  from  the  crude  materials  at  hand,  pre- 
vious to  the  recent  years  which  have  been  so  fmitful  in  the  practical 
knowledge  of  the  physical  forces  of  the  universe  ;  but  the  true  theory 
exists  in  nature,  written  by  the  Creator  himself,  and  we  may  trust  that 
sooner  or  later  the  being  made  in  His  image  will  decipher  the  record. 
It  is  claimed  that  the  theory  of  Professor  Vail  explains  the  numerous 

I  l-heMapuincDf  A: 


blind  passages  in  Genesis  relating  to  the  creation, —  but  how  certain 
parts  of  the  theory  can  be  explained,  is  a  problem  that  remains  to  ex- 
ercise the  reader. 


The  Story  of  Carthage;  by  Alfred  J.  Church,  M  A.,  with  Arthur  Gilman, 
M.  A.     New  York:  G.  P   Putnam'8  Sons.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  309.     $1.50. 

The  Story  cf  Spain;  by  Edward  Everett  Hale,  and  Susan  Hale.  New  York: 
G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  407.     $1  50. 

Hearts*  Own;  verses  by  Edwin  R.  Champlin.  Chicago:  Chas  H.  Kerr& 
Co.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  69. 

The  Bravo  cf  Venice;  published  by  Cassell  and  Company,  New  York.  Gas- 
sell's  Natirnal  Library.    Vol.  i.  No.  43.     Paper;  32  mo.  pp.  192.     $3  co  a  year; 

single  number  10  cents. 

Science  and  Health;  by  Mrs.  Glover  Eddy.  Boston:  Published  by  the 
Author.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  590.     Price  $3  00. 

Old  Thf.ology.  For  the  Healing  of  the  Sick  By  E.  J.  Arens  Boston, 
2^"^  Union  Park:  Published  by  the  Author.     Cloth,  12  mo.  pp.  318.     Price  $1.50. 

TiiK  Story  of  THE  Saracfns;  with  maps.  By  Arthur  Gilman,  M  A  New 
York  and  London  :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Son.s.     Cloth,  8  vo.  pp.  493.     Price  $1.50. 

American  Literature,  Vol.  i.  The  Dtvclo^mcnt  of  American  Tbouf^hi, 
By  Chas.,F.  Richardson.  New  York  and  London  :  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons.  Cloth, 
8  vo.  pp,  535. 



Art,  Architectl're. 

Biography,  Genealogy.  Chevreul  at  a  Hundred.  W.  II.  Larrabee,  5.— - 
Sketch  of  Edward  S  Holden.  11.  C.  IVt'nlock.  5.  — Bey sch lag's  Life  of  Christ 
Prof.  B.  li'rtss  3.  —  Ludwij^  of  Bavaria,  /.rtt'  Vanderpool.  9  — The  Gene- 
alogy   of   Christ.      Wm.  Denovun.      24.  —  Robert   Burns  as  Poet  and  Person. 

Walt  Whitman.  4.  —  Gov.  Thomas  Pownal.  Robert  Ludto-v  Fo' vie r,  8. — The 
Hermitage,  Burgwin's  Seat,  yames  G.  Burr.  6. —  The  First  American  Anarch- 
ist. Arthu,  D.  Vinton.  6. — Distinctive  Traitsof  John  B.  Gough.  Prof. 
Ed-wards  A.  Park,  D.  D.  23. — Joseph  Robinson  Bodwell,  (Governor-elect  of 
Maine  )  Capt.  Chas.  E.  Nash.  23  — A  Notable  Family.  Edwim  Ilwrd, 
23.  —  Paul  Louis  Courier,  yamcs  Ilutton.  25.  —  Chief  Justice  Peter  Oliver. 
(Concluded.)  Thomas  Weston,  Jr.  12.  —  Church  Records  of  Farmington, 
Conn.      Juiius    Gay.       12. — John    Harvard  and     His   Ancestry.      Henry    F, 

Waters.  12. — Lord  Timothy  Dexter  of  Newburyport.  Wm.  C.Todd.  12. 
Soldiers  in  King  Phillip's  War,  XVI.     Rev.  Geo.  AI.  Bod^e.     12. 

Civil  War.  Some  Unpublished  War  Letters.  Generals  Grant,  Halleck^ 
Burnside^  Brags^,  and  Admiral  Porter;  addressed  to  General  W.  T.  SJier^ 
man.  4.  —  From  Cedar  Mountain  to  Chantilly,  HI,  Groveton.  Alfred £.  Z^v. 
6.  —  General  Pope  Again.     Professor  W.  Allan.     6. 

Description,  Travels,  Adnt^ntires.  Tombstone,  Arizona,  y.  H.  Yonng. 
10. — Saturday  Night  in  London.  Mary  WetAerbie.  10. — Life  in  an  Ex- 
Daimios*  Home.  Helen  II.  S.  Thomp9»n.  10. — The  Sunset  Land,  X.  Capt* 
Ed-vi'ard  Kernys^  yr.  7.  —  After  Geronimo.  Lieut,  yokn  Bigelow^  yr.  10. — 
The  Last  Vovage  of  the  Surprise,  VH.  10. — Around  the  World  on  a  Bicycle, 
XIV.     Thomas  Stevens.      10  —The  Cities  of  Italy.     ''Ouida.**    4  —The  Iler- 


mitage,  Burgu'in's  Seat.      James  G.  Burr.      6. — The  Wayside  Inn,  Sudbury. 
H^llacc  Dotutics.      23. — The  Massachusetts  Capitol.      Geo.  y,  Varney.      23. — 
A  Visit  to  Some  Austrian  Monasteries.     St.  George  Mivart,     25.  —  Rural  Tus- 
cany.    Leopold  Katscher,     25.  —  Coincidences?    25. 

Education.  The  Study  of  American  Institutions  in  Schools.  Francis  N. 
Thorpe^  Ph.D.  8. — The  Present  German  School  System.  Professor  John  K. 
Lord.  8.  —  History  in  Amherst  College.  H.  B.  Adamsy  Ph.D.  8.  —  Manual 
Training  in  Education.  May  Mackintosh.  8.  —  Old  and  New  Methods  of  Teach- 
ing. 8  — Some  Outlines  from  the  History  of  Education,  III.  Professor  W.  /c*. 
Benedict.  5.  —  Shall  the  Negro  be  Educated.^  Edmund  Kirke.  4. — 
The  Power  of  a  Modern  Book.     26, 

History.  The  Romans  in  Ancient  Britain.  Rev,  H.  Hewitt.  8.  —  History 
of  American  Yachting,  VI.  Capt.  Poland  F.  Coffin.  10. — Six  Unpublished 
Letters.  Geonre  Washington.  4. — Governor  Tnomas  Pownal.  Robert  L. 
Fozvlcr.  6. — The  Hermitage,  Burgwin's  Seat.  James  G.  Burr.  6.  —  Brad- 
dock's  Defeat.  T.  J.  Chapman^  A.  M.  6. — Virginia's  Conquest.  J.  C. 
Wells.  6. — The  Split  at  Charleston  in  i860.  A.  W.  Clason.  6. — Margery 
Corbin — poem.  .  George  Houghton.  6  — The  Enlistment  of  Lafayette,  1776. 
Bayard  Tuckcrman.      15. —  The  Massachusetts  Capitol.     George  J.  Varney.    23, 

—  History  of  Amherst  College.     //.  B.  Adamsj  Ph,  D.     8. 

Literature.  The  Leips'c  Book- Trade.  Wm.  C.  Dreher.  3.  —  Beyschlag's 
Life  of  Christ.  Professor  B.  Weiss.  3.  —  Newspaperism.  Conde  Benoist  Pat- 
ten. 9.  —  My  Journalistic  Experiences.  Jennctte  L.  Gilder.  9  — How  I  Be- 
came a  Funny  Man.  y.  H.  Williams.  9  — Some  Editors  and  Others.  Em^ly. 
9.  —  Robert  Burns  as  Poet  and  Person.  Walt  Whitman  4  — The  Modern 
Novel.  T.  S.  Perry.  15  — The  Resurrection  cf  Buried  Languages.  Francis 
Broivn.  15.  —  International  Copyright.  Calvert  Wilson.  23. — Egyptian 
Divine  Myths.  Audreiv  Lang.  25  — Mr.  Swinburne's  Poetry.  P.  Anderson 
Graham.  25  — Some  Aspects  of  Heine.  Coulson  Kernahan.  25. — The  Power 
of  a  Modern  Book.     26  —  School  of  Library  Economy.-    26. 

Miscellaneous.     Reflections  and  Recollections.   George  Alfred  Townsend.  9. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  Woman  Suffrage.  F.  E.  Spar- 
haz^'k.  8. — Origin  and  Results  of  Sundav  Legislation.  Rev.  A.  H.  Lewis, 
D.  D.  5. — Trade  Distinctions  in  Alcoholic  Liquors.  W.  E.  Bradley.  5. — 
The  Labor  Qiiestion.  A.  S.  Wheeler,  Esq.  3. — The  Leipsic  Book-Trade. 
Wm.  C.  Dreher.  3. — Newspaperism.  Conde  Benoist  Pallcn.  9. — The  Silver 
Qiiest'on.  yohn  //.  Boalt.  10.  —  A  Primitive  Sabbath,  yames  Park.  24  — 
How  Shall  the  Negro  be  Educated.'*  Edmund  Kirke.  4.  — The  Indian  Policy  of 
the  United  States,  yefferson  Davis  4.  —  A  Slave-Trader's  Letter-Book.  4. — 
Railway  Legislation.  Frank  S.  Bond.  4.  —  The  Study  of  American  Institu- 
tions in  Schools.  Francis  Neiv ton  Thorpe.  Ph.  D.  8. — Woman  Suffrage.  F. 
C.  Sparha-Kvk  8.  —  Railroad  Abuses  at  Home  and  Abroad.  Arthur  T.  Hadlcy. 
15  — Sham  Legislation.     15. — International  Copyright.      Calvert  Wilson.     23. 

—  Russia  and  England.  (Batoum  and  Cyprus.)  Samuel  W.  Baker  and  Armn- 
ius  Vambery.  25. — Prospects  of  Home  Rule.  E.  A.  Freeman.  25. — The 
Future  Supremacy  of  Women  E.Lynn.  25.  —  Panslavism.  25. —  Inter-State 
Notification  in  Infectious  Diseases.     27. —  Women  in  Libraries.     26. 

Recreation,  Sports.  History  of  American  Yachting.  Capt.  Roland  F. 
Co  fin.  10.  —  Mayflower  and  Galatea  Races  of  1886.  Chas.  E.  Clay.  7. —  The 
Great  Canoe  Meet.  10  — The  International  Canoe  Race.  10. — The  Croquet 
Tournament  of  1886.     10. 

Religion,  Morals.  Origin  and  Results  of  Sunday  Legislation.  Rev.  A.  H. 
Leivis,  D.  D.  5  — A  Decade  of  Ethics.  F.  H.  Hyslop.  3. — Beyschlag's  Life 
of  Christ.  Professor  B.  Weiss.  3. —  Christianity  and  its  Modern  Competitors. 
3. — A  Harmony  of  the  Resurrection  Accounts.  Rev.  S.  B.  Goodenow.  3. — 
Swedenborg's  Spiritual  Home.  Francis  Phelps.  24. — Development  in  the  One 
and  the  Many.  Wm  Bruce.  24.  — The  Genealogy  of  Christ.  Wm.  Denovan. 
24  — A  Primitive  Sabbath,  yames  Park,  24. — The  Holy  Spirit  yames  E. 
Mills.  24. — Isms,  I :  Christian  Science  Mind  Healing.  Rev.  William  I.  Gilt. 
23.  —  Egyptian  Divine  Myths.     Andrew  Lang.    25.  —  Evil  Unselfishness.    25. 

Science,  Natural  History,    Discovery,    Inventions.     North  America  in 



the  Ice  Period.  Professor  y.  S,  Navberry.  5.  — The  Mental  Faculties  of  Mon* 
keys.  Afme.  Ch  mence  Roycr.  5.  —  Recent  Advances  in  Solar  AatronAnjr. 
Professor  C  A.  Toung.  5. — Geology  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Sir  WUliatm 
Dawson.  5  — Comte  and  Spencer,  on  Sociology.  Leon  MetehHikof.  5  —The 
Hickory  Nuts  of  North  America,  y.  F.  James.  5  — The  Hygienic  Treatment 
of  Consumption.  Dr.  lienj.  Ward  Richardson^  F.  R.  S.  5  —Thirties.  Grant 
Allen.  5. — Inebriate  Maniacs.  T.  D.  Crotkers^  M  D.  5.  —  Our  Earthquake. 
helix  L.  Osxvald.  9.  —  Photography  the  Servant  of  Astronomy  Edward  S. 
II olden.  10 — Realism  yames  McCosh.  15.  —  A  Boquet  of  Weeds.  By  the 
Auf/torof*'//omespufi."  23. — Isms,  I:  Christian  Science  Mind  Healing.  Rev, 
William  I.  Gill.  23.  —  Revolution  and  Evolution.  Leon  Mete knikoff,  25. — 
Coincidences .=>  25.  —  Winds  of  Heaven.  Richard  yefferies  25. — Water 
Analysis.  Surgeon  Charles  Smart y  U.  S.  A.  27. —  The  Influence  of  Ground- 
water on  Health.  Baldwin  Latham.  27. —  Increase  of  the  Duration  and  Eco- 
nomical Value  of  Life.  Sir  Spencer  Wells.  27. —  The  Treatment  of  Sewage. 
C.  Wymott  Tidy,  M.  D.  27.— Health  of  the  U.  S.  Army.  Beni'.  F.  Pope, 
Surgeon^  U.S.  A.  27. —  Six  Years'  Sanitary  Work  in  Memphis.  C?.  B.  Thoru' 
ton,  M.  D.  27.— The  Albuminoids  in  Milk.  27. —  Ozone,  Relative  Value  of 
Observations  of.     A   W  Nicholson,  M.  D.     27. 

Theology,  Pol  emics.  A  Harmony  of  the  Resurrection  Accounts.  Rev.  S, 
B.  (joodenoiu.  3. — The  Holy  Spirit',  yames  E.Mills,  24.  —  Swedenborg's 
Spiritual  Heme  Francis  Phelps.  24. — Developments  in  the  One  and  the 
Man  v.  William  Bruce.  24.  —  Whv  I  am  a  Churchman,  l^hc  Bishop  of  Kem^ 
tucky  4.  —  The  Holy  Spirit,  yames  E.  Mills.  24  —  The  Bible  or  the  Creed? 
B.  F.  Barrett.     24.  —  Egyptian  Divine  Myths.     Andrew  Lang,    25. 

1  Thf  Ccniitrv. 

2  H a  rprr's  Magazine. 

3  A  luiiK'rr  Kn'irtv. 

4  Srrth  American  Rrr'ifw. 

5  I'-'^iiiar  Science  Klonthly. 

0  Magazine  0/ A  Aerican  History. 

7  Ontiug. 

8  K.iucation. 

g  Lippincott's  Magazine. 

10  Ch'er land  Monthly. 

11  Atlantic  Monthly. 

\l  N.  E.  Hist,  and  Gen* l^l Register. 

13  Rhode  Island  Hist.  Magatine. 

14  The  Forum. 


•VfTc  Princeton  Rrt'iew. 
The  Brooklyn  Magazine. 

17  The  Southern  Bi7'onac. 

18  The  Citizen. 

19  Political  Science  Quarterly. 

20  Unitarian  Rrt'icw. 
JS/'ew  Englander. 
Magazine  0/  A  rt. 
AVw  England  Maguzine. 
Neva  Jerusalem  Stagazime. 

25   The  Eclectic  Magazine. 
20  Library  Notes. 
27  The  Sanitarian. 




New  England  Magazine 

Vol.  V.  No.  3.  JANUARY,   1887.  Whole  No.  27. 


Bv  M.  A.  JORDAN. 

The  attempt  to  give  an  account  of  Smith  College  meets  at 
once  a  difficulty  like  that  suggested  by  Fielding's  heading  to  one 
of  the  cliapters  in  Tom  Jones :   "  A  brief  history  of  Europe ;   and 



a  curious  discourse  between  Mr.  Jones  and  the  Man  of  the  Hill." 
The  higher  education  bears  so  close  a  relation  to  its  various 
embodiments   that  the  wider  subject  besets  the  historian  of  any 

0>ii7><lt>u.  19H1.  bj  Xntmr  F.  IhHjp.    All  rifbti  rs 



one  College  as   persistently  as  the  sense  of  a  subtle  connection  \ 
between   civil  history  and    biography  did  the  satirical  romancer. 
Fifteen  years  ago  the  public  faith  and  practice,  as  touching  educa- 
tion, showed  a  marked  advance  when  compared  with  the  items  ia  | 
the  complaint  of  good  old   Roger  Ascham.  uttered   some  three  I 
hundred  further  back:   "A  child  that  is  still,  silent,  constant  and  I 
somewhat  dull  of  wit,  is   either  never  chosen  by  the  father  to  be  | 
made  a  scholar,  or  else,  when  he  cometh  to  the   school,  he  is 
smally  regarded,  little  looked  into;  he  lacketh  teaching,  he  lack- 
eth    encouraging,  he   lacketh   all    things,  only  he   never   lacketh   i 
berating,  nor  any  word  that  may  move  him  to  hate  learning,  nor    1 
any  deed  that  may  drive  him   from   Icariiini,'  lo  any  other  kind  of  | 

living."  They  showed,  too,  sometliing  done  toward  making  good 
the  criticism  of  Milton  that  "  We  do  amiss  to  spend  seven  or  eight 
years  merely  in  scraping  togething  so  much  miserable  Latin  and 
Greek  as  might  be  learned  otherwise  easily  and  delightfully  m  the 

But  all  that  had  been  done  was  apparently  emphasizing  the  need 
of  still  further  effort.     As  long  as  the  struggle  for  the  mere  main- 



tenance  of  schools  and  colleges  had  been  diPRcult  and  when  many 
of  them  were  kept  in  operation  from  year  to  year  by  appeals  for 
money  made  from  the  pulpit  and  by  systematic  begging  expedi- 
tions, the  people  who  gave  and  the  people  who  received  were  at 
once  too  much  interested  and  too  anxious  to  be  very  critical  about 
methods  of  study.     College  was  simply  an  incalculable  good,  or 








^^Hk  . 







V      ^B^ 



vague  in  everything  except  the  effort  necessary  to  get  there  and 
stay  there.  Some  of  us  can  still  remember  the  vivid  interest  we 
felt  in  the  young  Soldiers  of  the  Cross  whom  our  mothers  were 
helping  through  college  by  weekly  meetings  of  the  Dime  Society, 
and  some  of  us  wonder  now  whether  the  colleges  do  not  lose 
■something  in  the  withdrawal  of  this  intimate  sympathy  on  the 
part  of  the  general  public  in  favor  of  the  comparatively  few  who 
individually  possess  the  requisite  money  or  influence.  At  all 
events,  this  change  brought  others  in  its  train ;  and  the  opportunitj- 
that  paid  large  sums  of  money  in  adding  to  the  equipment  of 
institutions  brought  to  light  unsuspected  weakness  in  their  original 
plans  and  rapidly  taught  the  public  that  two  things  were  needed 
in  tlie  successful  outlay  of  money  for  schools  of  the  higher  cduca- 


tion,  —  the  first,  the  definite  adjustment  of  means  to  ends,  made 
possible  only  by  a  course  of  study  founded  upon  a  thorough- 
going psychology. —  the  second,  an  elasticity  in  the  curriculum 
itself  which  would  secure  the  greatest  possible  individual  devel- 

Three  lessons  were  being  taught  and  learned  at  the  same  time; 
that  women  were  making  their  claim  to  wider  opportunities  for 
training  than  had  been  granted  to  them  in  the  past,  and  it  was 
consequcnUy  in  a  sensitive  condition  of  public  attention  that  the 
first  experiments  in  women's  education  were  tried.  As  a  result, 
the  colleges  for  women  have  no  such  vicissitudes  to  chronicle  as 
marked   the  history  of  infant  V;ile  and    Il,ir\-,-ird.      Smith  College 


has  not  needed  reconstruction  or  revolution,  and  tins  is  a  great  ad*  I 
vantage ;   but  on  the  other  hand,  the  college  has  been  worlcii^  at  WnX 
problem  whose  equations  had  lost  or  were  fast  losing  the  iotereafe,! 
of  noveltj'.  and  were  passing   into    truisms  without  ever  goiogl 
through    the  stage  of  ascertained   fact.     Obcrlin  and  Vassarhad;! 
been   pioneers;   it  became   necessary  for  Smith  College  to  devote 
much  careful  experiment  to  the  task  of  reasserting  truisms  intelli- 
gcnlly.     These    are   conditions    intrinsically   unfavorable   to    the 
production  of  a  sudden  sensation,  but  exactly  those   required  for 
the  steady  growth  of  a  reputation   founded  on  the  application  of 
ascertained  principles. 


Something  more  than  economic  interest  attaches  to  the  history 
of  large  sums  of  money,  especially  when  the  student  begins  to 
investigate  the  motives  which  aided  their  accumulation  and  deter- 

mined their  use.  The  fortune  now  represented  by  Smith  Collegi 
is  one  of  two  amassed  by  the  shrewdness  and  industry  of  an  uncl^ 
and  nephew  living  in  the  quiet  Massachusetts  town  of  Hatfield: 
Curiously  enough,  Northampton  has  profited  by  both.  The  uncle, 
Alvin  Smith,  founded  the  Smith  charities  to  encourage  m 
by  offering  |)ortiiiH'^  tn  wnrthy  vniing  men  and  wnmen  who  would 


Otherwise  be  unable  to  marry.  A  sum  now  amounting  to  a 
million  dollars  was  thus  laid  out  by  a  man  who  lived  and  died  a 
bachelor.     The  nephew,   Austin  Smith,  died  without   organizing 



any  scheme  of  benevolence  for  the  use  of  his  careful  store,  but 
left  it  to  his  sister  Sophia ;  who,  unmarried,  like  her  brother  and 
uncle,  had  reached  the  age  of  sixty-five,  to  be,  perhaps,  unusually^ 
impressed  by  the  value  of  intellectual  resources,  as  her  own  edu^ 
cation  had  been  limited  to  the  primary  schools  of  Hatfield,  and 
her  experience,  from  the  time  she  was  forty  years  old,  painfully 
conditioned  by  deafness. 

Miss  Smith  sought  the  advice  of  her  pastor,  the  Rev.  John  M. 
Green,  and  counselled  undoubtedly  by  the  repressed  activities  of 
her  own  life,  thus  stated  the  object  for  which  she  wished  her  money 
used :  **  The  establishment  and  maintenance  of  an  institution  for 
the  higher  education  of  young  women,  with  the  design  to  furnish 

them  means  and  facilities  for  education  equal  to  those  which  are 
afforded  in  our  colleges  for  young  men."  The  formal  wording' 
hardly  tells  the  story  of  self-denial,  painful  industry,  common- 
place restriction  and  isolation  that  lies  behind  it  in  the  lives  of 
this  brother  and  sister;  it  could  as  little  prophesy  the  successful 
realization  of  the  generous  project  it  made  possible.  But  time 
and  work  make  history  out  of  generous  dreams  and  impartial 
conjecture  alike.  Miss  Smith  chose  the  location  of  the  college,, 
appointed  a  Board  of  Trustees  to  carry  out  the  provisions  of  her 
will,  and  until  her  death,  June  12,  1870,  did  everything  in  her 
power  to  insure  the  success  of  her  undertaking  by  enlisting^ 
talent  and  integrity  in  its  service. 


In  1 87 1,  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  issued  a  charter 
to  Smith  College,  with  full  power  "to  grant  such  honorary  testi- 
monials, and  confer  such  honors,  degrees  and  diplomas,  as  are 
granted  or  conferred  by  any  university,  college  or  seminary  in  the 
United  States."  This  charter  was  the  first  of  its  kind  ever  granted 
to  women  in  Massachusetts. 

Wealth,  like  the  value  of  a  vulgar  fraction,  is  a  matter  of  rela- 
tion rather  than  of  the  absolute  size  of  the  sums  involved,  and  by 
a  wise  provision  of  Miss  Smith's  will,  a  financial  policy  was  indi- 
cated that  secured  to  the  new  college  many  advantages  not  always 
accompanying  the  control  of  much  larger  sums.  Only  one-half 
the  $387,468  bequethed  by  Miss  Smith  was  to  be  expended  in 
buildings  and  grounds,  so  that  the  opening  years  of  this  educa- 
tional experiment  were  free  from  the  embarrassments  due  to 
holding  more  real  estate  and  apparatus  than  there  is  patronage  to 
support.  The  trustees  have  ever  since  tried  to  keep  all  the 
expenses  of  the  college  within  the  income  of  the  property.  The 
sum  of  $25,000  was  given  by  Northampton  in  fulfillment  of  a  con- 
dition concerning  the  location  of  the  college. 

There  is  a  popular  delusion  that  the  pious  wishes  of  good  men 
and  women  serve  as  an  antiseptic  to  preserve  their  project  and 
undertakings  for  the  benefit  of  the  world.  The  first  stage  of  the 
history  of  the  college  was  doubtless  successfully  accomplished 
when  its  charter  committed  it  to  the  higher  education,  when  the 
wish  of  its  founder  indicated  an  equality  of  opportuniy  with  those 
offered  to  young  men,  and  when  it  was  furnished  with  a  board  of 
trustees  interested  in  accomplishing  these  ends.  But  all  this  car- 
ried the  purpose  of  Miss  Smith  hardly  further  than  the  idea. 
Here  was  admirable  equilibrium,  and  the  popular  delusion  would 
have  us  believe  that  this  was  enough, —  that  contact  with  the 
original  idea  would  in  time  produce  motion;  but  there  is  no 
antiseptic  for  the  idea  of  a  college  like  a  live  President ;  no  motor 
like  a  man ;  and,  fortunately  for  Smith,  in  1873,  L.  Clark  Seelye, 
D,  D.,  (at  that  time  a  Professor  in  Amherst  College,)  was  elected 
its  head.  He  had  no  small  task  before  him  in  the  work  of  gather- 
ing together  a  faculty  and  students,  determining  a  course  of  study, 
putting  up  buildings  and  creating  esprit  du  corps  on  the  money 
basis  of  something  less  than  half  a  million  dollars. 

The  homestead  of  Judge  Dewey,  on  Elm  street,  Northampton, 


was  bought  for  the  site  of  the  college,  the  old  house  with  its  high 
pillared  porch  was  made  into  a  dwelling  house,  where  such  of  the 
coming  first  class  as  did  not  care  to  board  in  the  hospitiable  homes 
of  the  towns  people  should  find  a  home  instead  of  a  dormitory. 
A  stately  and  refined  woman  was  put  at  the  head  of  the  house  to 
direct  its  machinery,  and  stand  to  the  young  women  in  the  place 
of  counsellor,  friend  and  social  superior.  Any  one  having  the 
least  knowledge  of  the  so-called  dormitory  system  as  carried  out 
in  our  large  schools  or  colleges  for  girls,  will  at  once  see  the 
subtle  but  complete*  revolution  worked  by  the  adoption  of  this 
arrangement.  It  removes  much  of  the  necessity  for  routine  and 
minute  regulation  and  secures  the  quiet  orderliness  and  circum- 
spection of  family  life  by  the  creation  of  an  atmosphere,  instead  of 
by  lectures  on  propriety  of  conduct  and  the  iteration  of  the  old 
assertion,  "Such  things  do  not  become  a  young  woman."  The 
talent  for  administration  shown  by  the  first  lady  who  held  one  of 
these  positions  at  once  commanded  the  respect  of  the  students ; 
and  a  longer  acquaintance  with  her  only  served  to  change  this 
feeling  into  admiration  and  love. 

The  recitation  rooms,  offices  and  public  rooms  of  the  college 
were  provided  for  in  a  central  building  of  brick  and  freestone, 
admirably  constructed  for  the  purpose.  The  college  walls  and 
tower  can  never  be  without  their  share  of  romantic  association, 
too,  to  those  who  have  seen  the  icy  points  touched  into  glittering 
silver  by  a  winter  moon,  or  who  have  walked  in  their  deep 
shadows  through  the  long  summer  evenings.  Here,  for  the  time 
being,  were  sheltered  the  art  gallery  and  the  science  laboratories. 

Something  of  the  distinctive  character  of  the  college  had  already 
been  shown  in  the  adoption  of  the  cottage  system.  At  the  open- 
ing of  the  college  in  1875,  the  principles  of  its  course  of  study 
were  outlined  by  President  Seelye  in  his  inaugural  address.  In 
the  first  place,  the  college  was  to  be  free  from  the  manifold  evils 
of  a  preparatory  course  of  study  carried  on  at  the  same  time  as 
the  collegiate  work.  By  this  action  President  Seelye  secured  for 
his  students  the  homogeneous  conditions,  the  freedom  from  irk- 
some restraint,  the  methods  of  teaching  and  study,  which  are  the 
right  of  college  students,  but  which  are  impossible  whea  the  needs 
of  younger  and  less  disciplined  students  must  also  be  considered. 
President  Seelye  made  substantially  the  same  requirements  for 



admission  to  the  first  class  as  are  made  in  the  best  American  col- 
leges for  men.  This  was  done  under  the  definite  belief  that  girls 
do  not  lose  their  womanliness  by  what  they  study  so  much  as  by 
the  way  in  which  they  study;  and  he  emphasized  the  claims  of 
Greek,  Latin  and  mathematics  in  the  education  of  girls  all  the 
more  that  he  was  fuily  alive  to  the  need  of  greater  attention 
to  modern  languages  and  art  in  the  courses  of  study  prescribed 
for  boys.  Generous  recognition  of  the  liberalizing  effect  of  art 
study  was  made  by  its  admission  to  the  curriculum  on  the  same 
terms  as  any  other  elective  study.  Time  has  only  proved  the 
wisdom  of  this  as  of  most  of  the  other  departures  of  the  college 

from  the  ordinary  methods.  Art,  undertaken  with  the  reaponsi-^ 
bilities  of  serious  work,  proves  of  high  disciplinary  value  at  ihC  | 
same  time  that  it  offers  immediate  rewards. 

The  first  class  of  a  young  college  has  memories  that  cannot  I 
shared  with  any  later  ones.  The  worst  pessimist  cannot  proval 
our  human  nature  so  fallen  that  its  response  to  an  appeal  to  its  ] 
innate  generosity  is  not  made  with  an  ardor  that  adorns  its  owa  J 
service  with  the  charm  of  serious  and  tender  association.  This'*] 
perhaps  is  explanation  of  the  fact  that  although  few  first  claj 
see  their  Alma  Mater  at  her  best,  there  are  likewise  few  who  love  J 


Tier  better.  The  twelve  young  women  who  graduated  in  1879 
have  also  a  store  of  less  serious  tradition.  They  were  among  the 
first  of  many  to  explore  the  part  of  Mill  River  Valley,  known  as 
''Paradise,"  making  a  new  calendar  by  their  spoils.  The  exact 
site  of  the  house  in  Old  Hadley  where  the  regicide  judges  were 
concealed  seemed  to  them  so  attractive  a  subject  for  investigation 
that  they  were  as  sorry  as  any  of  their  successors  to  dismiss  it  as 
an  unanswerable  conundrum.  Descriptions  of  the  Edwards  elm 
and  sonnets  on  Round  Hill  were  written  then  as  now.  The  hint 
of  what  were  after\vard  to  be  the  "house-rattles"  organizations  in 
the  Washburn  and  Hubbard  houses  for  social  enjoyment  and 
recreation,  was  to  be  found  in  the  informal  charades  and  tableaux 
of  the  Dewey  House  evenings. 

The  college  grew  at  a  rate  hardly  to  be  foreseen.  In  1876  it 
had  two  classes,  thirty  students  in  all ;  in  1879,  the  official  circular 
ranks  202  students  in  four  collegiate  classes.  Its  public  also  was 
enlarging.  The  class  of  1879  graduated  not  a  student  living  further 
west  or  south  than  the  state  of  New  York.  In  the  same  year,  the 
junior  class  had  two  students  out  of  thirty-eight,  who  lived  west  of 
the  middle  states ;  the  second  class  had  twelve  out  of  sixty-two, 
and  the  entering  class  for  that  year,  eleven  from  the  west  and  one 
from  Virginia,  out  of  a  total  of  ninety-tvvo.  For  the  accommoda- 
tion of  these  students  three  dwelling  houses  had  been  built,  and  in 
1879  the  old  Dewey  House  stood  the  centre  of  an  attractive  and 
convenient  group  —  the  Hatfield,  the  Washburn  and  the  Hubbard. 

The  work  of  the  students  in  Music  under  the  direction  of  Doctor 
Benjamin  C.  Blodgett  had  reached  such  proportions  and  importance 
in  1 88 1  that  the  President  and  Trustees  felt  justified  in  building  a 
Music  Hall. for  the  use  of  the  department,  providing  it  with  ample 
lecture  and  practice  rooms  as  well  as  with  a  hall  of  admirable 
acoustic  properties  for  use  in  the  public  exercises  of  the  school 
itself  or  of  the  college. 

In  the  same  year  Mr.  Winthrop  Hillyer  gave  money  for  an  Art 
Gallery.  It  was  built  in  the  same  general  style  of  secular  gothic 
as  the  main  building  and  music  hall.  Mr.  Hillyer's  generosity  also 
provided  for  its  endowment,  and  the  work  was  at  once  begun  of 
gathering  together  what  is  now  the  finest  collection  of  casts  in  this 
country.  The  paintings  owned  by  the  college  are  for  the  most 
j)art  works  of  representative  American  artists. 


So  high  a  standard  of  health  had  been  maintained  in  the  college 
community  there  it  was  not  until  the  fall  term  of  1885  that  a  student 
died  during  the  session.  And  even  then  the  student  had  not  been 
living  in  one  of  the  college  houses,  but  with  her  parents  in  town. 
The  students  of  Smith  College  at  that  time  well  remember  that  in 
addition  to  their  heart-felt  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  a  singularly  lovely 
companion,  there  was  over  them  all  almost  awe-stricken  gloom  at 
the  breaking  of  what  had  seemed  a  spell.  The  natural  healthfulness 
of  Northampton  is  doubtless  responsible  for  something  in  this 
extraordinary  record,  but  the  regular  life,  habits  of  exercise  and 
gymnastic  practice  so  strongly  insisted  upon,  count  for  much 

In  1885  the  demand  for  rooms  in  the  college  became  greater 
than  the  houses  already  built  could  satisfy.  During  the  summer 
vacation,  President  Seclye  directed  the  refitting  of  a  frame  house 
on  the  opposite  side  of  Elm  street,  and  for  some  time  the  property 
of  the  college,  to  meet  this  pressure.  The  Stoddard  House,  with 
its  old-fashioned,  low  ceiled,  square  rooms  and  its  wide  fireplaces, 
bids  fair  to  rival  in  attractiveness  the  houses  on  the  campus. 

Meantime  the  main  building  had  been  feeling  the  need  of  more 
room,  for  the  growing  numbers  and  expanding  work.  The  science 
laboratories,  in  particular,  were  daily  more  inadequate,  spite  of  the 
space-saving  inventions  of  the  professor  of  Physics  and  the  tem- 
porary housing  of  the  biological  work-rooms  in  the  music  building. 
The  students  of  Astronomy  depended  upon  the  observatory  and 
telescopes  of  Amherst  College  for  illustration  of  text-book  de- 
scriptions. This  arrangement  was  made  in  the  utmost  generosity 
by  Amherst  and  accepted  with  gratitude  by  Smith ;  but  not  even 
this  cordial  feeling  could  materially  shorten  the  miles  of  sandy^ 
road  in  summer  and  of  snow-drifts  in  winter  that  lie  between  the 
two  colleges. 

The  needs  of  two  of  the  departments  were  met  by  the  gift  of 
Alfred  Theodore  Lilly,  of  Florence,  whose  beautiful  Hall  of  Science 
was  dedicated  during  the  commencement  exercises  of  1878.  The 
visitor  who  listened  to  the  explanatory  remarks  of  President  Seelye, 
or  of  Mr.  Lilly  himself,  at  that  time,  might  have  caught  a  glimpse, 
through  the  wide  windows,  of  the  scaffolding  still  hugging  the  walls 
of  the  new  observatory.  The  names  of  the  two  donors  of  the 
Observatory  are  as  yet  unknown  to  the  public. 

These  appliances,-  however,  are  but  tools ;   and  the  critic  will  at 


once  wish  to  know  the  theory  of  education  behind  all  this.  And 
indeed  there  is  a  closer  connection  than  is  sometimes  admitted 
between  the  material  prosperity  of  an  institution  and  its  organizing, 
vitalizing  power  in  matters  of  the  intellect.  The  history  of  the 
course  of  study  of  Smith  College  has  been  marked  by  a  conscien- 
tious independence  of  tradition  and  by  an  equally  conscientious 
deference  to  the  needs  of  the  students  as  they  developed  under  its 
care.  The  college  began  by  demanding  Greek  of  its  entering 
students,  and  at  the  same  time  allowing  some  elective  work  among 
►  the  studies  of  the  first  year.  Its  care  for  the  health  of  the  students 
led  to  the  establishment  of  a  maximum  and  minimum  of  hours  of 
work, —  at  once  affording  a  check  to  undue  ambition  and  protect- 
ing the  class-room  against  shirks.  Under  this  system,  it  has  seen 
no  reason  for  dispensing  with  the  disciplinary  influence  of  pre- 
scribed studies  or  for  caring  to  avail  itself  of  the  incentive  offered 
by  elective  work.  Experience  shows  that  properly  conducted 
elective  study  enjoys  the  strongest  kind  of  prescription-^ that  of 
individual  taste  and  interest.  The  emphasis  placed  upon  Greek  as 
a  prime  factor  in  the  formal  Arts  course  has  been  continued,  but 
the  growth  of  the  college  has  brought  it  into  contact  with  an  in- 
creasing number  of  individuals  who  do  not  acknowledge  any  special 
value  in  Greek,  but  whose  earnest  purpose  and  definite  attainments 
merit  recognition. 

The  disadvantage  of  requiring  this  body  of  students  to  carry  on 
a  four  year's  course  of  study  without  the  moral  support  or  pre- 
sumable relations  that  come  from  organization  was  more  and  more 
evident.  There  was  besides  a  definite  waste  of  force  in  retaining 
these  students,  subject  to  no  obligations  except  individual  ones, 
when  they  might  be  positive  factors  in  the  aggressive  intellectual 
life  of  the  college.  The  treatment  of  such  students  as  exceptions 
or  as  being  in  some  way  outside  the  pale  that  surrounds  the  stu- 
dents for  a  degree  is  almost  unavoidable,  and  yet  such  treatment 
involves  the  loss  of  nearly  all  the  benefit  from  the  presence  of 
persons  carrying  on  specialized  lines  of  work.  Considerations  like 
these  led  to  the  publication,  in  connection  with  the  official  circular 
for  1885,  of  \yNO  courses  of  study  parallel  with  that  of  Arts. 
These  courses,  tentative  as  yet,  require  the  presentation  of  an 
amount  of  work  in  literature  or  science  fully  equal  to  the  Greek  of 



the  other,  and  are  so  adjusted  as  to  provide  consistently  developed 
systems  of  study. 

Hut  even  the  most  superficial  account  of  Smith  College  would 
be  inadequate  if  it  ignored  the  name  and  work  of  M.  Stuart 
rhelps.  Professor  of  Philosophy,  whose  counsels  availed  so  much 
in  the  formation  years  of  the  college,  and  whose  tragic  death  in 
the  summer  of  1883  has  been  so  deeply  felt.     The  great  personal 

magnetism  of  Professor  Phe!])S  made  him  a  power  in  the  classroom 
and  enabled  him  to  lio  much  toward  the  creation  of  that  enthusi- 
asm fur  sustained  individual  effort  which  is  his  best  memorial  in 
11,0  clk-Kc. 

Smith  College  is  still  young.  Mr.  Gilders'  poem,  Mors  Triumph- 
tHis,  read  last  June,  marked  onh'  its  eighth  annual  Commencement. 
Its  history  thus  far  indicates  the  spirit  in  which  the  increasingly 
foniplieated  problems  of  the  future  will  be  solved. 



Contrast  the  Boston  of  today,  with  its  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  people,  its  teeming  industries,  and  its  commercial  activities, 
with  the  picture  of  almost  utter  solitude  suggested  in  "Wonder- 
working Providence,"  by  Edward  Johnson,  who  came  over  with 
Gov.  Winthrop's  colony:  "The  planters  in  Massachusetts  bay  at 
this  time  [1629]  were  William  Blackstone  at  Shawmut,  Thomas 
Walford  at  Mishawum,  Samuel  Maverick  at  Noddles  Island,  and 
David  Thompson  att  Thompson's  island,  near  Dorchester.  How 
or  when  they  came  there  is  not  known."  Until  recently  the 
exact  year  of  Maverick's  advent  upon  our  shores  has  not  been 
known.  Various  dates  ranging  from  1625  to  1629  have  been 
given.  Whether  he  came  in  one  of  the  fishing  shallops  which 
cruised  along  the  coast  soon  after  the  settlement  of  Plymouth, 
or  how,  is  not  known,  but  the  actual  year  of  his  settlement  has 
been  now  authoritatively  fixed.  ^ 

That  delver  in  American  antiquities,  Mr.  Henry  Fitz-Gilbert 
Waters,  of  Salem,  now  resident  in  London,  has  proven  that  this 
**  one  of  the  first  white  men  who  ever  settled  on  the  shores  of  Mass- 
achusetts Bay,"  this  one  of  the  "old  planters  whom  Gov.  Win- 
throp  found  here,"  came  as  early  as  1624.  Plymouth  had  been 
founded;  Wessagusset  had  commenced  its  career;  Weston's  col- 
ony had  come  and  gone.  Mr.  Waters  has  found  among  other 
important  things,  notably  the  Winthrop  map,  Maverick's  **A  Briefe 
Discription  of  New  England,  and  the  Several  Townes  therein,  to- 
gether with  the  present  Government  thereof,"  wherein  he  says : 
*'Now  before  I  come  to  speak  of  Hudson's  River,  I  shall  most 
humbly  desire  the  Hon^^®  Councill  to  take  it  in  consideration 
the  great  benefits  and  profitts,  which  may  redound  to  the  English 
by  these  Westerne  Colonies  if  well  managed.     Of  their  present 

i"Whencc  these  people  came,  what  brought  them  to  the  shores  of  Boston  Bay,  and  when  they 
set  themselves  down  there,  have  been  enigmas  which  the  antiquaries,  after  exhausting  conjecture, 
have  generally  dismissed  with  the  remark  that  they  will  probably  never  be  solved"  Charles  Francis 
Adams,  Jr.,  in  "Old  Planters  About  Boston  Harbor."  Proceedings  Mass.  Hist.  Soc  for  June, 



condition  I  have  given  a  briefe  accompt  in  my  foregoing  Relation^ 
being  my  observations  which  for  severall  years  I  have  spent  in 
America,  even  from  the  year  1624  till  within  these  two  years 
last  past."  This  **  Discription  "  was  written,  probably,  in  the  year 
1660,  to  Sir  Edward  Hyde,  then  King  Charles  the  Second's  Lord 
High  Chancellor,  and  shows  that  Maverick  had  travelled  over  New 
England,  and  the  adjacent  territory,  extensively,  and  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  locality  and  products  of  the  various  places  in 
New  England  of  which  he  speaks, — some  fifty  or  more  of  them. 
Some  of  his  observations  are  curious  and  instructive:  "In  the 
yeare  1626  or  thereabouts  there  was  not  a  Neat  Beast  Horse  or 
sheepe  in  the  Countrey  and  a  very  few  Goats  or  hoggs,  and  now 
it  is  a  wonder  to  see  the  great  herds  of  Catle  belonging  to  every 
Towne  I  have  mentioned ;  The  braue  Flockes  of  sheepe.  The 
great  number  of  Horses  besides  those  many  sent  to  Barbados 
and  the  other  Carribe  Islands.  And  withall  to  consider  how 
many  thousand  Neatc  Beasts  and  Hoggs  are  yearly  killed,  and 
soe  have  been  for  many  yeares  past  for  provision  In  Countrey 
and  sent  abroad  to  supply  Newfoundland,  Barbados,  Jamaica,  and 
other  places.  As  also  to  victuall  in  whole  or  in  part  most  shipes 
which  comes  there."  And  of  Boston:  "And  the  place  in  which 
Boston  (the  Metropolis)  is  seated,  I  knew  then  for  some  yeares 
to  be  a  Swamp  and  Pound,  now  a  great  Towne,  two  Churches, 
a  Gallant  Statehouse  &  more  to  make  it  compleate  than  can  be 
expected  in  a  place  so  late  a  wilderness." 

It  has  generally  been  considered  than  when  Winthrop's  colony 
arrived  in  Boston  Harbor,  in  July,  1630,  Maverick's  residence  was 
on  Noddle's  Island,  now  East  Boston.  The  sole  authority  for  this 
statement,  says  Hon.  Mellcn  Chamberlain  in  his  "Samuel  Maver- 
ick's Palisade  House  of  1630,"  and  the  one  which  all  historians 
have  followed,  is  Edward  Johnson,  in  his  "Wonder- Working  Provi- 
dence," published  in  1654,  who  says,  "On  the  north  side  of 
Charles  River,  they  landed  near  a  small  Island,  called  Noddel's 
Island,  where  one  Mr.  Samuel  Maverick  was  then  living,  a  man 
of  a  very  loving  and  courteous  behavior,  very  ready  to  entertain 
strangers,  yet  an  enemy  to  the  Reformation  in  hand,  being  strong 
for  the  lordly  prelatical  power.  [Like  Blackstone,  Walford,  Thomp- 
son, and  others,  Maverick  was  an  Episcopalian.]  On  this  Island  he 


had  built  a  small  Fort  with  the  help  of  one  Mr.  David  Thompson, 
placing  therein  four  murtherers  to  protect  him  from  the  Indians."^ 

Untrustworthy  as  Mr.  Chamberlain  proves  many  of  Johnson's 
statements  to  be,  it  is  to  be  noticed  that,  although  he  says  "on  this 
island  he  had  built  him  a  small  Fort,"  he  previously  says  they  landed 
near  a  small  island,  called  '*  Noddels  Island ;"  and  that  he  did  land 
near  that  island,  at  Winnisimmet,  and  that  he  there  built  a  house, 
'*the  first  permanent  house  in  the  Bay  Colony," — which  stood  as 
late  as  1660 — is  now  satisfactorily  proved  by  Maverick's  own 
"  Discription,"  which  says:  "Winnisime. — Two  miles  South  from 
Rumney  Marsh  on  the  North  side  of  Mistick  River  is  Winnisime 
which  though  but  a  few  houses  on  it,  yet  deserves  to  be  mencond. 
One  house  yet  standing  there  which  is  the  Antientest  house  in  the 
Massachusetts  Goverment.  a  house  which  in  the  yeare  1625  I  for- 
tified with  a  Pillizado  and  fflankers  and  gunnes  both  belowe  and 
above  in  them  which  awed  the  Indians  who  at  that  time  had  a 
mind  to  Cutt  off  the  English.  They  once  faced  it  but  receiveing  a 
repulse  never  attempted  it  more  although  (asnowthey  confessc; 
they  repented  it  when  about  2  yeares  after  they  saw  so  many 
English  come  over."  And  that  he  was  living  in  Winnisimmet 
(Chelsea)  as  late  as  1633,  is  confirmed  by  Winthrop,  who  says, 
under  date  of  Dec.  5th  of  that  year,  while  speaking  of  the  ravages 
of  the  small-pox  among  the  Indians:  "above  thirty  buried  by  Mr. 
Maverick  of  Winesemett  in  one  day ;"  "  only  two  families  took  any 
infection  by  it.  Among  others,  Mr.  Maverick  of  Winesemett  is 
worthy  of  a  perpetual  remembrance.  Himself,  his  wife,  and  ser- 
vants, went  daily  to  them,  ministered  to  their  necessities,  and 
buried  their  dead,  and  took  home  many  of  their  children.  So  did 
others  of  their  neighbors."  This  was  none  other  than  Samuel 
Maverick,  as  Mr.  Chamberlain  says :  "Uniformly  and  without  ex- 
ception, both  in  the  Colony  Records  and  in  Winthrop's  Journal, 
Samuel  Maverick  is  called  *Mr.  Maverick.'" 

This  "  Manor  of  Winnesimett,"  as  it  came  to  be  called,  and  the 
land  belonging,  in  which  a  John  Blackleach  seems  to  have  been  a 
part  owner,  and  the  **fferry  att  Wynysemet  graunted  to  Mr.  Sam'^^ 

•Phillips'  "  New  World  of  Words,  or  Universal  Dictionary,"  printed  in  1706,  defines  "  Murder- 
ers, or  Murdering:  Pieces,"  as  "  small  cannon,  cither  of  brass  or  iron,  having  a  Chamber  or  Charge 
consisting  of  Nails,  old  Iron,  &c.,  put  in  at  their  Breech.  They  are  chiefly  used  in  the  Forecastle, 
Half  Deck,  or  Steerage  of  a  Ship,  to  clear  the  Decks,  when  boarded  by  an  Enemy;  and  such  shot 
is  called  a  Murdering  Shot." 


Mauacke"  by  the  General  Court,  were  sold  to  Richard  Bellingham, 
F'eb.  27,  1634,  soon  after  he  arrived  from  England.' 

Another  mention  of  Mr.  Maverick's  property  is  as  follows : 
**  Mystic  Side"  was  granted  to  Charlestown,  July  2,  1633,  when  it 
was  ordered  that  the  **  ground  lyeing  betwixte  the  North  [Maiden] 
Ryv""  &  the  creeke  on  the  north  side  of  Mr.  Mauacks  &  soe  vpp 
into  the  country,  shall  belong  to  the  inhabitants  of  Charlton.** 
The  year  before  Oct.  2,  1632,  he  had  been  admitted  a  freeman. 
Noddle's  Island  having  been  granted  to  Maverick  April  i,  1633. 
by  the  General  Court,^  and  he  having  sold  his  Winnisimmet  house, 
he  built  him  a  house  on  his  new  island  home,  probably  during  the 
year  1634,  or  spring  of  1635,  for  although  he  was  absent  in  Vir- 
ginia from  May  1635  ^o  May  1636,  his  wife  wrote  a  letter  dated 
**Nottcirs  Hand  in  Massachusetts  Bay,  the  20th  November,  1635  j'* 
and  it  is  clearly  indicated  also  by  the  Court  records.  Here  he 
lived  for  many  years,  dispensing  his  hospitality  on  many  and  di- 
vers occasions  as  is  witnessed  by  Josselyn,^  who  made  a  voyage  to 
this  country  in  1638,  and  other  early  travellers.  Other  grants  of 
land  were  made  to  Maverick;  one  of  600  acres  and  one  of  400 
acres;  the  latter  being  located  in  "the  upper  parts  of  Monotocot 

1  In  the  "  Boston  Town  Records,"  vol.  2,  p.  27,  on  "  The  last  day  of  the  9th  moneth,  1640,"  this 
pn  pcrty  is  thus  described:  "  The  lands  of  Mr.  Rich.  Bellingham's,  lieingat  Winnissixnett, bekmgr- 
ing  to  the  towne  of  Boston,  are  bounded  with  the  land  of  William  Steedsonne,  of  Charles  towne, 
and  with  Charles  towne  lands,  limitted  by  fences  and  marsh  towards  the  ncrewest,  with  a  winter 
fresh  water  ninnell  and  pouder  home  Creeke,  parting  betweene  the  land  of  Mr.  Bellinghame  and 
Mr.  Nicholas  Parker,  of  Boston,  towards  the  north  East,  with  the  salt  water  on  all  other  parts 
towards  the  east,  and  south  and  west ;  all  the  lands  within  the  said  Limitts  and  bounds  bdongr  to 
the  the  said  Mr.  Richard  Bellingham."  Mr.  Bellingharo  at  once  took  a  prominent  position  in  our 
Colonial  affairs,  dying  in  1672,  while  Governor,  aud  still  owning  this  Chelsea  property.  Here  are 
some  receipts  for  rental  given  during  the  last  years  of  his  life  copied  from  the  manuscript  in 
session  of  Artemas  Barrett,  Esq.,  of  Melrose,  Mass. 

Rec.  of  Jeremiah  Belcher  and  Sarah  his  wife  ten  pounds  in  fifty  bushells  ) 
of  Barley  &  it  is  for  the  rent  of  the  Farme  wh  nowe  they  live  in  19. 1. 1667.  { lo-o-o 

Ri.  Bellingkam, 

Reed,  of  Jeremiah  Belcher  and  Sarah  his  wife  ten  pounds  by  30  bush  of 
mault  —  by  ferryige  — 60  rodd  wh  a  stone  wall  — by  a  latt  Hoppc. 
17.  1. 68  Ri.  Bellingkam, 

Rec  of  Jeremiah  Belcher  and  Sarah  his  wife  ten  pounds  for  the  yeare 
1671  now  past.    This  account  made  1672  Mar.  25. 

Ri,  Bellingkam. 

2 1633,  I  ApriL  Noddles  Ileland  is  graunted  to  Mr.  Samll.  Mafiocke,  to  enjoy  to  him  &  his  hdres 
for  ever,  yeilding  &  paycing  ycarely  att  the  Gcnall  Court,  to  the  Gottnr  for  the  time  being  dtiier  a 
fatt  weather,  a  fatt  hopg.  or  x  Is  in  money,  &  shall  give  leave  to  Boston  &  Charles  Towne  to  itSSKSSk, 
word  contynually,  as  their  necde  requires  from  the  Southeme  pte  of  the  sd  ileland. 

3 "The  only  hospitable  man  in  all  the  countrey,  giving  entertainment  to  all  Comers gimtiib"* 
Josselyn's  Account,  p.  12,  vMass.  Hist.  Coll.  vol.  iii,  p.  220). 


River,  neere  Taunton  Path,"  which  he  assigned  to  Edward  Bendall 
in  1643.  He  was  one  of  the  patentees  of  lands  in  Maine,  owning 
land  on  the  banks  of  the  "  Agamenticus "  in  Maine,  as  early  as 
1 63 1,  as  is  witnessed  by  a  deed  found  in  the  York  County  records. 

If  not  the  earliest,  Maverick  was  one  of  the  earliest  slavehold- 
ers in  Massachusetts,  having  purchased  one  or  more  slaves  of  Capt. 
William  Pierce,  who  brought  some  from  Tortugas  in  1638.  Slav- 
ery was  always  repugnant  to  the  feelings  of  our  Puritan  fathers, 
and  from  this  fact,  and  the  Episcopacy  of  Maverick,  there  was 
gradually  engendered  an  ill-feeling  between  him  and  the  govern- 
ment, which  began  to  show  itself  as  early  as  March,  1635,  when 
the  Court  ordered  Maverick  to  leave  Noddle's  Island  by  the  fol- 
lowing December,  and  take  up  his  abode  in  Boston,  and,  in  the 
*'  meantyme  "  not  give  *'  entertainment  to  any  strangers  for  a  longer 
tyme  than  one  night  without  leave  from  some  Assistant,  and  all 
this  to  be  done  under  the  penalty  of  ;^ioo."*  This,  for  fear 
that  he  might  aid  in  some  way,  an  anticipated  and  threatened 
change  in  New  England  affairs,  to  uproot  Puritanism  and  establish 
Episcopacy;  a  plan  concerted  in  England,  but  which  came  to 
naught.  This  injunction  upon  Maverick  was  repealed  before 
December  arrived.  This  was  but  one  of  many  similar  controver- 
sies which  sprang  up  between  Maverick  and  the  government. 
Sumner,  in  his  ** History  of  East  Boston,"  says:  "His  hospitable 
disposition  subjected  him  to  numerous  fines,  which,  however,  were 
frequently  remitted ;  indeed,  he  seems  generally  to  have  been  at 
war  with  the  government."  ^ 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  he  was  frequently  entrusted  by  the 
colonial  government  with  more  or  less  of  the  public  affairs,  as  is 
abundantly  witnessed  by  the  records,  although  he  held  no  public 
office.  He  seems  to  have  been  a  man  holding  the  goodwill  and 
respect  of  all  who  came  in  contact  with  him ;  but,  owing  to  his 
religious  opinions,  was  involved  in  these  difficulties  with  the  gov- 
ernment. These  ecclesiastical  troubles  resulted  in  harsh  and 
oppressive  acts,  on  the  part  of  the  government,  towards  all  who 
were  members  of  the  Church  of  England  and  who  were  simply 
contending  for  their  rights.  In  1646,  a  petition  signed  by  "Robt 
Child,  Thorn.  Burton,  John  Smith,  John  Daniel,  Thomas  Fowle, 

I  Massachusetts  Archives,  vol.  i,  p.  140. 


David  Yale  [and]  Samm :  Maverick,"  was  addressed  to  the  Gen- 
eral Court,  setting  forth  what  they  considered  their  grievances. 
For  this  a  fine  was  imposed.  Then  the  petitioners  claimed  the 
right  of  appeal  to  the  commissioners  for  plantations,  in  England, 
which  was  not  allowed;  nevertheless,  they  appealed  to  Parlia- 
ment. The  signers  of  this  appeal  were  treated  with  much  indig- 
nation; and  May  26,  1647,  ^^  Court  passed  sentence  upon 
them  as  follows:  "The  Courte  having  taken  into  serious  consider- 
ation the  crimes  charged  on  Doc*  Rob*  Child,  M^  John  Smith, 
M'  Thomas  Burton,  M'  John  David  &  M'  Samuel!  Mavericke,  & 
whereof  they  have  been  found  guilty  upon  full  evidence  by  the 
former  judgement  of  this  Courte,  have  agreed  upon  y®  sentence 
here  ensewing  respectively  decreed  to  each  of  them."  Mr.  Mav- 
erick's fine  was  ;^I50,  a  half  of  which  was  finally  remitted  after 
several  petitions  from  Maverick,  the  first  of  which  was  as  follows : 

"I  Samuell  Mavericke  humbly  request  that  wereas,  at  a 
Co'te  held  in  May  &  June,  1647  there  was  layd  to  my  charge 
conspiracy  for  w®^  I  was  fined  1 50;^,  no  witnes  appearing  either 
viva  voce  or  by  writinge,  but  was  refered  to  the  records  for  suffi- 
cient testimony  to  convince  me,  w*^^  records  I  could  not  obtaine  in 
thirteen  weekes,  in  the  space  of  one  month  after  sentence  I 
yielded  myself  prisonner  according  to  the  order  of  the  Co'te,  & 
after  my  abode  there  12  dayes  paid  the  fines,  &  so  was  discharged, 
w*^**  time  haveing  gotten  coppies  of  the  records,  and  finding  noth- 
ing materiall  against  me,  whereby  I  may,  (as  I  conceive)  be  ren- 
dered guilty,  so  as  to  deserve  so  great  a  fine,  or  to  lye  under  so 
great  disparagement  upon  record. 

I  therefore  humbly  desire  this  honored  Courte,  that  my  fine 
may  be  repaid,  and  my  Credit  repaired,  by  recording  my  inno- 
cency,  if  such  testimony  do  not  further  appeare,  as  may  render 
me  guilty. 

8,  (3),  1649.  SAMUEL  MAUERICKE."i 

Additional  evidence  that  Maverick  was  incarcerated  during 
these  troubles  is  given  in  a  petition  to  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  Feb- 
ruary 13,  1687,  by  Mary  Hookc,  his  daughter,  who  first  married 
John  Palsgrave,  and  then  Francis  Hooke,  in  which  she  says  her 
father  was  "  imprisoned  for  a  long  season."     By  this  same  petition 

I  Massachusetts  Archives,  Vol.  38  B,  p.  228. 


of  his  daughter  it  is  evident  that  for  a  while  he  became  dispos- 
sessed of  his  home  on  Noddle's  Island  in  a  rather  dishonorable 
and  unfilial  manner.  She  says,  after  referring  to  the  above  fine : 
**  Which  sume  he  resolveing  not  to  pay,  and  fearing  the  s**  Island 
would  be  seized  to  make  payment  of  itt,  he  made  a  deede  of  Gift 
of  the  s**  Island  to  his  Eldest  sonne,  not  w^  any  designe  to  deliver 
the  s*  Deede  to  him,  onely  to  p'^vent  the  seizure  of  itt.  But  yo' 
Peticon"  s^  Eldest  Brother  heareing  of  itt,  by  a  Crafty  Wile  con- 
trary to  his  Father's  knowledge  gott  the  s*  deede  into  his  custo- 
dy. But  whether  he  sold  it,  or  how  he  disposed  of  itt  yo'  Peti- 
con*^  canot  sett  forth,  soe  that  yo'^  Peticon"  s*  Father  in  his  life 
tyme  and  yo*^  Peticon'^  since  his  decease  hath  been  debarred  of 
their  just  right,  and  partly  by  the  Massathusetts  Government  con- 
tinuing soe  long,  and  yo*^  Peticon"  Father  being  one  of  the  King's 
Comiss"  sent  with  Collon"  Nicolls,  Gen.  S*"  Rob*  Carr  &  Collonll 
Cartwright  to  settle  the  affaires  in  New  York  &  New  England  but 
were  interrupted  at  Boston  w^^  sound  of  the  Trumpett." 

But  by  deed  recorded  in  Suffolk  Registry  of  Deeds,  Lib.  i,  fol. 
122,  it  seems  that  matters  were  adjusted  only  a  few  years  after 
these  troubles,  for,  in  1650,  the  Island  was  sold  to  "Capt. 
George  Briggs  of  the  Island  of  Barbados,  in  the  West  In- 
dies, Esq.,"  b/  Samuel  Maverick  and  his  wife,  Amias,  their  son 
Nathaniel, — ^"the  Peticon"  s^  Eldest  Brother,"  above  referred  to, — 
*'for  divers  good  causes  &  valuable  considerations  vs  hereunto 
moveing,  especially  for  &  in  the  consideration  of  fourty  thousand 
pounds  of  good  white  sugar,  double  clayed,"  '*giue  grant  bargaine 
sell  alien  convey  enfeoffe  assure  confirmevnto  thes^  Capt.  Georg. 
Briggs  a  certain  p  cell  of  land  or  an  Island  comonly  called  or 
knowne  by  the  name  of  Nodles  Island  lying  and  being  in  the  Bay 
of  Massachusetts  in  New  Engl,  aforesaid,  together  w*^  the  Mansion 
house  millhouse  &  niill,  bakehouse  &  all  other  of  the  houses  out- 
houses barnes  stables  edifices  buildings,  water  privileges  ease- 
ments commodities  advantages  immunities  &  emoluments  whatso- 
ever." There  were  some  subsequent  conveyances,  but  in  1656,  the 
same  parties,  Maverick,  wife  and  eldest  son,  made  a  final  deed  to 
one  Col.  John  Burch,  as  "S^  Samuell  hath  Received  full  satisfac- 
tion of  the  s*^  £700  Stirling  menconed  in  the  aboue  order  made  at 
the  Generall  Court  aforesayed." 

Referring  to  the  troubles  that  resulted  in  thus  driving  Mr.  Mav- 


erick  away  from  Boston,  Drake  says :  "It  may  appear  strange  that 
Mr.  Maverick  should  submit  to  so  many  indignities  as  from  time  to 
time  it  has  been  seen  that  he  did ;  a  man  that  Boston  could  not  do 
without.  He  was  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and  great  liberality.  A 
few  pages  back,  291,  we  have  seen  how  much  the  town  was  in- 
debted to  him  for  help  to  rebuilt  the  fort  on  Castle  Island.  He 
may  have  looked  upon  these  and  other  proceedings  against  him  as 
petty  annoyances,  to  which  it  was  best  quietly  to  submit,  not  wish- 
ing to  set  an  example  of  opposition  to  the  government,  or,  having 
a  large  property  at  stake,  he  might  not  wish  to  jeopardize  it."^ 

Certain  it  is  that  he  now  left  his  home  on  Noddle's  Island ;  and 
his  subsequent  life  shows  him  to  have  been  a  royalist,  true  to 
Episcopalianism  and  to  the  King;  and  upon  the  restoration  of 
Charles  II.  he  went  to  England  to  complain  to  the  King;  and  was 
two  or  three  years  soliciting  that  commissioners  might  be  ap- 
pointed who  should  visit  New  England  with  authority  to  settle  all  dif- 
ficultics.2  In  this  he  succeeded ;  and  April  23,  1664,  the  King  ap- 
pointed four  commissioners,  *' Colonel  Richard  Nichols,  Sir  Robert 
Carre,  Knt.  George  Cartwright,  Esq.,  and  Samuel  Maverick, 
Esq.,"  *' to  visit  all  and  every  of  the  same  colonies  aforesaid,  and 
also  full  power  and  authority  to  hear  and  receive,  and  to  examine 
and  determine,  all  complaints  and  appeales  in  all  causes  and  mat- 
ters, as  well  military  as  criminal  and  civil,  and  to  proceed  in  all 
things  for  the  providing  for  and  settling  the  peace  and  security  of 
the  said  country."  Upon  the  arrival  of  the  Commissioners  in 
this  country  there  commenced  a  controversy  and  a  conflict  between 
their  authority  and  that  of  the  colonial  government,  particularly 
that  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  which  was  persistent  and  determined, 
^lany  letters  passed  between  them ;  reports  were  made  by  the 
Commissioners  to  the  Lord  Chancellor;  and  only  with  the  recall 
of  the  Commissioners  did  anything  like  peace  reign,  and  that  but 
temporarily.  An  extended  and  interesting  account  of  this  contro* 
versy,  together  with  many  of  the  documents  passing  between  the 
parties,  is  given  by  Gen.  William  H.  Sumner,  in  his  "History  of 
East  Boston,"  chap.  VI.,  pp.  127-160. 

Just  when  and  where  Maverick  died  is  not  known,  but  it  is  gen- 
erally thought  that  at  the  time  of  his  death  he  was  living  in  Neir 

1.  History  of  Boston,  p.  296. 

2.  Sumncrs  East  Boston,  p.  127. 


York,  probably  in  Broadway,  in  a  house  presented  him  by  the 
Duke  of  York  for  his  fidelity  to  the  King.  **  During  the  early 
years  of  his  residence  in  the  colony,  upon  Noddle's  Island,  he  was 
distinguished  for  his  hospitality,  public  spirit,  and  hearty  coopera- 
tion in  efforts  for  the  welfare  of  the  province ;  and  if  in  subsequent 
years,  he  manifested  feelings  different  from  these,  they  can  only  be 
considered  as  the  natural  result  of  the  harsh  treatment  he  had  re- 
ceived. Like  all  men,  he  had  his  faults ;  but  they  were  so  small 
in  comparison  with  his  traits  of  character  as  a  man,  citizen,  and 
public  officer,  that,  in  spite  of  all  opposition  he  rose  to  stations  of 
high  importance,  enjoyed  the  confidence  of  his  sovereign,  and 
identified  himself  with  the  efforts  to  establish  religious  freedom  in 
the  colony.*'* 

This  sketch  of  one  of  our  very  earliest  Bay  settlers,  whom 
Adams  pronounces  **  a  man  of  education  and  refinement,"  and  **  a 
man  of  substance,"  cannot  be  better  closed  than  by  giving  a  few 
words  of  John  Ward  Dean's  introduction  to  Maverick's  **  Discrip- 
tion  "  which  was  printed  in  the  **  Historical  and  Genealogical  Reg- 
ister" for  January,  1885.  Speaking  of  this  account  of  New  Eng- 
land, his  letter  to  the  Earl  of  Clarendon,  printed  in  the  Collections 
of  the  New  York  Historical  Society,  for  1869,  p.  19,  and  his  letters 
printed  in  the  third  volume  of  the  New  York  Colonial  Documents, 
he  says:  ** They  show  the  persistency  displayed  by  Maverick  in 
his  efforts  to  deprive  New  I^ngland,  and  particularly  Massachusetts, 
of  the  right  of  self-government  which  had  so  long  been  enjoyed 
here.  .  .  .  The  death  of  Maverick,  which  occurred  between 
October  15,  1669  and  May  15,  1676,  did  not  bring  repose  to  the 
people  of  Massachusetts.  In  the  latter  year  a  new  assailant  of 
their  charter  appeared  in  the  person  of  Edward  Randolph,  whose 
assaults  on  their  liberties  did  not  cease  till  the  charter  was  wrested 
from  them,  and  the  government  under  it  came  to  an  end  May  20, 

f  History  of  East  Boston,  p.  160. 



By   rev.  henry  M.  DEXTER,  D.  D.* 

Congregationalism  is  the  democratic  form  of  church  order.  It 
has  its  name  because — under  Christ — it  vests  all  church  power  in 
the  Congregations  of  Christian  believers ;  at  the  same  time  recog- 
nizing a  fraternal  and  equal  active  fellowship  between  them  —  by 
%vhich  it  is  differenced  from  strict  Independency. 

Its  fundamental  principle  is  that  the  Bible,  adequately  interpre- 
ted, is  the  only  authority  in  the  practice,  as  in  the  faith,  of  Chris- 
tianity ;  so  that,  while  tradition  may  sometimes  aid  in  that  interpre- 
tation, it  can  neither  control,  nor  determinately  supplement,  the 

rVoni  the  Bible  expounded  in  accordance  with  this  principle, 
the  following  subordinate  positions  are  deduced,  viz: 

1.  Any  company  of  persons  believing  themselves  to  be  Chris- 
tians, and  confessing  themselves  to  be  such  through  association  by 
covenant  for  purposes  of  Christian  worship  and  work,  thus  be- 
comes a  true  church  of  Christ. 

2.  Such  a  church  should,  as  the  rule,  include  only  so  many  as 
may  conveniently  meet  together  in  one  place,  and  easily  know, 
watch  over,  and  work  with,  each  other. 

3.  Every  member  of  such  a  body — save  for  some  special 
abridgement  in  the  case  of  females  and  minors — is  equal  in  right, 
power,  and  privilege,  to  every  other. 

4.  By  majority  vote — absolute  unanimity  always  being  sought— 
the  members  of  such  a  church  have  the  right  and  duty  of  admit- 
ting, dismissing  and  disciplining  members;  of  choosing — and  of 
deposing — all  scriptural  and  needful  officers;  and  of  doing  all 
business  appropriate  to  a  Christian  Church. 

5.  Every  such  local  body  of  believers  associated  by  covenant 
■  is  independent  of  all  earthly  jurisdiction  or  control, — is  on  a  level 
.of  equality  of  genuineness,  privilege  and  duty,  with  every  like 

body;  all  being  amenable  solely  to  Him  who  is  "the  Head;"  yet 
;all  such,  being  equal  sisters  of  the  one  great  family  of  Christ,  owe 

-•■[Editor  of  Tht  CongregmiioMalist^ 


to  each  other  sisterly  esteem,  fellowship,  and  cooperation  in  their 
common  work  for  Him. 

6.  Such  fellowship  —  in  addition  to  formal  cooperation  for  pur- 
poses of  benevolence,  and  the  like — finds  wise  expression  and  use- 
ful service  through  coming  together  by  delegation  in  ecclesiastical 
council ;  when  a  new  church  desires  admission  to  the  sisterhood, 
when  a  pastor  is  to  begin  or  close  his  labors,  or  when  some  trouble 
perplexes  a  church  with  which  it  feels  its  incompetence  to  deal 
alone ;  the  result  of  such  a  council,  however,  being  purely  in  the 
nature  of  advice,  and  having  only  so  much  of  force  as  there  may 
be  force  in  the  reason  of  it. 

7.  Should,  in  any  case,  such  advice  seem  to  be  unreasonably 
neglected,  and  scandal  follow,  sister  churches  may  purify  their 
fellowship  and  bear  emphatic  testimony  against  disorder  and  sin, 
by  suspending  the  mutual  relation  until  what  is  wrong  has  been 
set  right. 

8.  The  New  Testament  assigns  to  such  churches  two,  and  only 
two,  classes  of  permanent  officers ;  the  first — indifferently  called 
bishops,  elders,  evangelists,  angels  of  the  churches,  pastors,  and 
teachers — for  its  spiritual  oversight  and  training ;  the  second — 
called  deacons,  or  helpers — for  the  care  of  its  temporal  concerns, 
and  the  administration  of  its  charities. 

Reducing  these  principles  to  their  simplest  form  we  get  the  two 
germ-elements  of  the  New  Testament  polity,  viz. :  the  independ- 
ent self-completeness  —  humanly  speaking — of  local  churches, 
which  is  their  aittonomy;  and  their  equal  sisterhood,  which-  is  their 

The  confidence  which  Congregationalists  feel  that  theirs  is  the 
church  system  of  the  New  Testament,  is  founded  upon  the  two 
conclusions,  that  whatever  system  Gospels,  Acts  and  Epistles,  by 
precept  and  practice  set  forth,  must  be  divinely  favored ;  and  that 
the  Congregational  is  that  system.  They  hold  it  impossible  for  an 
intelligent  and  candid  mind  to  study  critically  all  passages  of  the 
Word  which  bear  upon  the  subject,  and  relying  upon  Scripture 
alone  without  coloring  from  tradition  or  patristic  teaching,  reduce 
them  to  a  reasonable  harmony,  without  reaching  that  conclusion. 

But  three  systems — the  democracy  of  Congregationalism,  the 
aristocracy  of  Presbyterianism,  and  the  monarchy  of  the  Episco- 
pacy, the  Patriarchate,  or  the  Papacy — are  possible.    Combination 


of  any  two  would  furnish  a  hybridity  necessarily  unfertile  and 
temporary.  No  confusing  similarity  exists  between  them.  So 
that,  so  far  as  the  new  Testament  touches  that  subject — ^whether, 
by  implication  in  setting  forth  church  methods,  or  by  suggestion,  or 
command — serious  doubt  as  to  which  system  it  has  in  mind  be- 
comes to  the  last  degree  unlikely.  Our  Saviour  gave  but  one 
precept  on  the  subject — to  the  effect  that  if  trespass  arise  between 
brethren  and  the  trouble  cannot  be  settled  by  the  parties,  not  even 
with  the  intervention  of  one  or  two  friends,  the  aggrieved  "  tell  it  to 
'the  church."  This  "church"  even  Dean  Alford  admitted  "cannot 
mean  the  church  as  represented  by  her  rulers."  It  follows  that  by- 
enacting  as  its  permanent  law  of  discipline  one  which  can  be  legally 
carried  out  neither  under  Papacy,  Episcopacy,  Methodism  nor 
Presbyterianism  —  in  point  of  fact  nowhere  but  in  Congregational- 
ism— our  Saviour  did,  for  substance,  ordain  the  democratic  polity 
for  His  church.  So,  further,  Congregationalists  have  not  failed  to 
note  how  subsequent  important  utterances  of  Christ  harmonize  with 
the  same  view.  No  other  polity,  it  seems  safe  to  say,  so  fully  accords 
with,  and  tends  to  promote,  that  loving  oneness,  and  perfect 
brotherhood  of  his  disciples  for  which  He  prayed.  His  last  com- 
mand, addressed  not  to  any  hierarch  or  bench  of  bishops,  but  to 
the  equal  fraternity  of  His  followers,  whom  He  commanded  to  "go 
preach,"  befits  the  Congregational  system  better  than  any  other; 
while  Congregational  churches  surely  have  the  advantage  of 
their  hierarchal  brethren  in  that  they  are  able,  with  verbal  accuracy 
and  perfect  naturalness,  to  copy  in  the  administration  of  the  Lord's 
supper  the  words,  and  acts,  of  its  first  institution  as  Inspiration 
has  preserved  them  "  for  our  learning." 

Passing  on  now  into  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  Congregationalists 
find  there  their  system  in  practical  operation.  Even  Chrysostom 
declared  that  an  apostle  was  chosen  in  place  of  Judas  by  popular 
suffrage  of  the  whole  one  hundred  and  twenty  members  of  the 
church,  and  not  by  the  remaining  eleven.  The  gift  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  descended  not  upon  apostles  or  disciples  alone,  but  upon 
every  member.  When  Peter  and  John  were  released  from  their 
imprisonment  they  reported  to  the  whole  church,  and  "  great  grace 
was  upon  them  all."  The  mass  of  the  church  selected  Stephen 
and  his  six  associate  deacons.  When  persecution  scattered  these- 
believers  they  went  about  "  preaching  the  word;"  which,  if  they 


-were  substantially  Congregationalists,  was  a  natural,  and,  as  one 
might  say,  necessary  record,  but  would  be  not  merely  abnormal, 
but  amazing,  on  any  other  theory. 

The  brethren,  and  not  the  apostles,  sent  Paul,  after  his  conver- 
sion, to  Tarsus.  Peter  did  not  himself  baptize  Cornelius,  but  left 
it  to  be  done  apparently  by  some  of  the  **  certain  brethren  from 
Joppa.*'  The  whole  church  appears  to  have  considered  and  dcr 
cided  upon  Peter's  defence  for  having  eaten  with  men  uncircum- 
cised.  The  whole  church  sent  Barnabas  to  Antioch.  The  whole 
church  of  Antioch  moved  in  the  matter,  when,  because  of  the 
great  famine  in  the  days  of  Claudius,  aid  was  needed  in  Judea ;  and 
they  sent  it  not  to  the  bishop,  but  "unto  the  brethren."  The  whole 
church  of  Antioch  sent  out  Barnabas  and  Saul  upon  a  foreign 
mission,  and  laid  hands  on  them  in  consecration ;  and  when  these 
missionaries  returned,  they  **  gathered  the  church  together,"  to 
make  to  them  their  report.  When  Antioch  wanted  advice  from 
Jerusalem,  that  advice  was  sent  '*by  the  apostles,  and  elders,  with 
tlic  whole  church."  The  "brethren" — not  the  bishop — wrote  the 
letter  of  commendation  which  Apollos  carried  to  Ephesus.  When 
Paul — since  it  was  impossible  for  the  whole  church  at  Ephesus  to 
journey  thirty  miles  to  Miletus  to  meet  him — sent  for  the  elders 
(or  pastors)  of  that  church,  he  called  them  "bishops,"  showing 
that,  to  his  mind,  a  bishop  was  simply  a  pastor,  and  a  pastor  a 
bishop.  So  he  was  "  brought  on  his  way"  to  Jerusalem  not  by  any 
church  officer  but  by  "the  brethren ;"  he  saluted  not  any  hierarch 
at  Ptolemais,  but  "the  brethren;"  when  he  reached  his 
journey's  end  it  was  neither  the  bishop,  nor  the  rector,  but "  the 
brethren  "  whg  received  him  gladly.  So,  Ir^ter,  on  his  way  to  Rome 
he  found  "brethren"  at  Puteoli,  and  the  "brethren"  from  Rome 
went  out  as  far  as  "the  Market  of  Appius,"  and  "the  Three  Tav- 
erns," to  meet  him,  and  his  company. 

This  usage  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles  prevails,  as  well,  through 
the  Epistles.  In  more  than  fifty  cases  in  them  the  word  "church" 
clearly  has  the  Congregational  sense  of  a  single  congregation  of 
believers.  Cenchrea  was  the  port  of  Corinth,  yet  there  were 
churches  in  both  places.  The  five  churches  of  Hierapolis,  Lao- 
dicea,  Colosse,  and  those  in  the  houses  of  Nymphas  and  Philemon 
were  all,  apparently,  within  eye-shot  of  each  other;  yet  each  was 
recognized  as  having  an  identity  of  its  own.    There  are  also  many 

2?4  frEU^^rOrr.  DE.VOMLVATrOyS. 

p^w^sf^^i*  ^A  *h«»  hy.^y*^.^  which  incidentail/  iujg^st  a  Coagrega- 
ti<rn»i  '•//n^tJ^-'i^nr/.  Amon<y  th<tv;  ar^  the  sai-ratorv  texts,  never 
nAAr^/^'^^A  V/  ;»riy  j/TM^trt'i  r.f  tl.e  churches,  but  ainiost  always  to 
fh^/y^  ^/r''/h^r^''/-'/^!>  *hrrriv:;lv',^.  That  to  the  Philiooians  ia  sent  "to 
;ii)  *W^  ^'A\h^^  ir#  ^,hr!vt  J'':vi^  which  ar-*  at  Phiiippi,  with  the  bishops 
nrA  ^]';i/'y/r)%/'  ■vhi/'li  v;^.m%  to  >how  two  things;  first,  that  it  was 
fioi  T^fi  r^p/;-vo;/;il  ^h'ir^h  having  but  one  bishop,  and,  second,  that 
in  f'iiiii'-;  'y.^  f.h^  ^hur^h  v/a^  b<;fore  xti  officers.  So  the  direct 
f/.f/  f/  f,/./'4  f/,  rhfir-'.h  offic/:r^  ftcatt/orcd  through  the  Epistles  cstab- 
li'.fi  tf,"  ^  •/./  rifi;i|  ^  ori;/r'';;/;ition;ili=".rn  of  churches  in  that  only  two 
ffft\f  f",  f,t  Of'  rfnrf\^Uy  ?ir';  «vpokr-n  of  while  the  same  qualifications 
«f''  t]f  iff'.trtflf  f]  fft  j/;i«>tor^,  f^;K,h^T?>,  (:\(\f:T^  and  bishops;  the  same 
/Iffti'  ;  ;ir'-  ;!■;'•; it{r»'-^J  to  ^jkJi  ;  ;ind  ;ill  ar':  spoken  of  interchangeably. 
'Ill'  f  i;  ff't  ;i  |;;i«;<t;ij;''  ifi  fh'r  Now  'I cstamcnt  which  requires,  as- 
^/•ff ;,  or  jii*.»iri'^  flK  /i'-;';''rtion  f;f,  any  superior  function  on  the  part 
of  M-.Iiop';  ov  f  |;;nto»'4.  I'tirlhcrrnorc,  Paul  says  that  Titus  was 
rtfipoinl//)  "liy  fh'"  Mmrrh'';"  to  accompany  him  in  his  journey. 
!!»•  *  ;ilh  him  iu\f\  \\v'  nrinamr.d  brother  who  was  with  him,  the 
"  fiM  c;';iMjM  n  'if  fh'*  (  hiiK  hcfl."  Paul  directed  Titus  to  put  the 
lifrihi'  M  in  minil  In  i(jr»  t  "  a  factious  man  after  a  first  and  second. 
nehimiiilinii ;"  and  he*  c  har|M's  the  (lorinthian  brethren  to  "put 
n\\:iv  hnin  ainiHij;  ycuiiM  Ivcs"  ;ui  impcMiilent  yross  oficnder;  and, 
milv.i  tph  nils ,  nlniini;  hai  U  to  th(?  same  case,  and  to  their  com-  '•  wiih  hi*  i  nininand,  h(*  says  (so  on rlCpiscopal friends Cony-  .\\\\\  I  l«»\v;oiHianNl.iir  in  liuo\,  '*  I'^or  the  ofl'ender  himself, 
thi'^  pnm  ihnii-nl.  \\ln»  h  has  .ihtMdy  hivn  inflicted  on  him  by  tlie^ 
\f;//r  V. /  f7  t\i-  v/j,vf//i',  j.,  Midi^irnt,  without  increasing  it." 

r^  ■.-.»  il  b\  \\\v^  iiinarkal>lo  C'oni^ivj^ationahsm  of  the  written 
W'lMil.  \W  t  \m\w  h.v;  Wcw  niado  that  thvMV  must  have  been  much 
in';lnhtion  avtovhin^h  j;o\viiunont  which  was  never  put  upon 
thi  »iiiMil,  that,  nuK\\l,  a  considv^ablc  portion  of  the  "other 
thin;  ■;  whi^h  h '^us  Jid."  thv^  w  litin;^  vUnxn  of  which  (John  suiiJiests 
\\\  l.«  .Mil  t  tioi^u.^  c\.\;:;>M.\;ion.>  \\o;:lvl  more  than  nil  the  world 
Um  ;i  w  ith  bo, On-..  r,i.n  h.Uv^  Iwa  i-.^trisv^ions  tVom  has  lips  favoring 
tb,  \  pi  .,  ,^^^.^,  \  '  U^^\IMvh  i:^.:;v;";io;;s  thv^^ry  il  SvVras  quite  suf- 
ti^  1*511  to  rx;N!\ .  \\\.\\,  iV.a^i'.n;:  o;:r  S.^n  o;ir  t.^  b.avc  L-^i''t  oral 
v-tNurN  X-  v^n  \\w  vi;bu\  ;  ot  |\^;.t\  wl'.ic!^  wviv  :ievv^r  written  doxiTi^ 
.v\'  tb.x  ::  y\\\\\\  to  Oiii  oNn'.io.-^vW  s;iii.  i'^a  rK"*ach:ng;s  which 
!v\i   ;'^.     \  N^^;lvv   .rv;   t'lv   ■  v'o-^\c:;-  :,^  .-^v^:   ;:;^o?    Conctvca-i»>'^nal 


principles — as  both  Acts  and  Epistles  show  that  they  uniformly 
did  act —  must  have  been  Congregational  in  their  tenor.  So  that, 
if  this  argument  have  any  value  it  enforces  the  democratic,  rather 
than  the  hierarchic  system. 

Congregationalists,  therefore,  claim  that  theirs  is  the  Church 
polity  of  the  new  Testament,  in  accordance  with  which,  in  the 
beginning  Christian  Churches  were  organized.  They  concede 
that  in  the  second  century  this  original  democratic  polity  faded, 
and  began  to  vanish,  before  ambitious  influences  by  which,  for 
wise  purposes,  the  Great  Head  of  the  Church  allowed  it  for  a 
time  to  be  overcome.  The  converts  of  those  early  generations 
were  comparatively  uncultured,  so  that  clerical  ambition  and 
assumption,  enforced  by  the  forgeries  of  the  Ignatian  Epistles 
and  otherwise,  easily  invaded  the  Christian  liberty  of  the  masses, 
and  subverted  and  hardened  their  simple  government  into  a  hier- 

Thirteen  or  fourteen  centuries  passed.  The  dark  ages  settled 
down  upon  the  Church  and  the  world.  The  Word  of  God  was 
withdrawn  from  His  children.  There  was  no  open  vision  of  a 
Saviour.  The  Gospel  was  degraded  into  another  Gospel,  which 
was  not  another.  Except  for  a  man  —  however  thoughtful  and 
fervid — to  trudge,  wearily  obedient,  his  treadmill  round  of  daily 
idolatries,  led  by  ecclesiastics  whom  he  often  felt  to  be  bad,  in  an 
ecciesiasticism  which  he  could  seldom  feel  to  be  good,  there  was 
no  resource. 

Then  came  the  reformers,  each  with  his  own  coal  for  the  com- 
mon fire; — simple,  honest  Grossteste,  pre-Puritan  Wyclif,  severe 
Savonarola,  benign  erudite  Erasmus,  pure  and  self-sacrificing  John 
Colct,  Luther,  Zwingli,  Latimer,  Hooper,  Ridley,  Calvin — one 
after  another  feeding  the  kindling  blaze.  The  immediate  pressure, 
however,  for  something  better  in  religion,  regarded  spiritual  life 
more  than  Church  form;  while,  as  the  existing  hierarchies  were 
so  everywhere  identified  with  the  State,  reform  in  polity  became 
rebellion,  and  so  could  be  looked  for  only  under  a  vigor  of 
thought,  and  a  stress  of  conscience,  which  would  justify  martyrdom. 
Luther  —  who  was  a  man  of  the  people  —  came  near  indeed  to 
the  conception,  if  not  the  reproduction,  of  the  original  Congrega- 
tional way;  yet,  in  his  intense  feeling  of  doctrinal  needs,  he 
under-estimated  the  importance  of  the  relation  of  churc!i-form  to 


spiritual  life;  while  the  current  of  circumstances  in  which  he 
wrouj^ht  swept  him  almost  irresistibly  along  toward  ecclesiastical 
:  rrangcments  in  which  princes  should  lead,  and  the  people  follow. 
Calvin  —  so  to  speak  for  definition  and  not  for  reproach  —  was  a 
born  aristocrat,  and,  called  suddenly  to  nominate  government  both 
for  Church  and  State  in  Geneva,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  in 
Ihose  days,  he  should  evolve  democracy  from  the  acts  of  the 
Apostles.  He  sincerely  believed  aristocracy  to  be  a  better  form 
ior  civil  government  than  either  a  monarchy  or  a  republic,  and 
he  chose  that  for  the  Church ;  confessing,  however,  [Epis.  54] 
that  the  eldership  was  a  feature  of  polity  to  which  he  was  driven 
—  tempontm  iiifirmitas  —  by  the  stress  of  circumstances. 

And  now  we  come  over  into  the  land  of  our  fathers,  where, 
about  as  the  sixteenth  century  was  entering  its  last  quarter,  we  see 
Travcrs  and  Cartwrit^ht  diligently  endeavoring,  with  as  much 
c>i>i'nncss  as  roigning  severity  permitted,  to  bring  in  from  Switzer- 
luul  this  now  Prosbyterianism*of  Calvin,  as  the  specific  for  all  the  ill 
uiulor  which  the  nominally  Reformed  Church  had  long  been  groan- 
iuj'.  in  I'ni^land.  \Vc  fiuvl  not  a  fow  grievously  dissatisfied  with  the 
I'stablishniont,  who,  after  gravest  consideration  of  Traverses  "  Full 
aiul  riaine  Declaration  of  Ecclosiasticall  Discipline  owt  off  the 
Word  otV  Ciod,  etc.,"  and  Cartwright's  **  Admonition  to  Parlia- 
ment," with  his  writings  in  answer  to  Whitgift,  still  felt  insur- 
nunintable  objoctions  against  the  Prcsbytorian  plan.  In  its 
relation  to  the  State  they  not  only  distrusted,  but  despaired  of  it, 
since  the  theory  was  that  the  Oueen  must  substitute  it  for  the 
remnant  l^piseopacy.  and  that,  when  established  in  place  of  that, 
it  shouM  remaMi  substantially  under  civil  control.  And,  in  itself, 
it  seeuK'd  to  thorn  ossontially  unscriptural,  in  that  it  proposed  to 
imitate  tlio  system  it  was  seeking  to  displace  by  taking  into  the 
(.^hureh  tl^.e  eiuire  bapti^'cd  population,  relying  upon  Church  dis- 
eipliiie  to  maintain  i^eneral  purity;  and  because  it  contemplated 
an  oriMuie  utiitv  between  all  its  eo:iL:rei:ati'.^ns,  one  etfect  of  which 
wo-,:!J  be  to  rerard  those  most  advanced  until  all  laggards  could 
keep  sto[>  w.f.i  t.':o::i. 

Six  yoar^  after  Calvir.'s  death,  and  cote mpo ran eou sly  with  the 
i>s::o  ot'  a;i  i:iiii:iot'or.  to  the  "cLTi^ie" — ordorini::  them  not  to 
take  l::hv>  tl^om  "to  expounde  a::y  Scripture  or  matter  of  doctrine 
1  V  uav  of  exhortation  or  otherwi-o."  unless  duly  licensed  so  to  do; 


•and  to  Church-wardens  to  present  for  discipline  the  names  of  any 
in  the  parish  who  **  wilfully  and  obstinately  defende  or  maintaine 
any  heresies,  or  false  doctrine,"  a  young  man  of  about  twenty 
years  of  age,  of  gentle  blood,  name  Robert  Browne,  went  up  from 
Rutlandshire  to  Cambridge.  His  studies  were  intermitted  by 
teaching,  and  by  the  plague,  but  were  resumed  at  a  later  date. 
He  became  a  member  of  the  family  of  the  devout  Richard  Green- 
ham  of  Dry  Drayton,  and  studied  theology  with  him.  His  tutor 
encouraged  him  to  preach,  and  he  proved  himself  acceptable,  not 
merely  to  rural  assemblies,  but  in  Bcnet  Church,  in  Cambridge, 
under  the  shadow  of  the  University  itself.  One  of  the  Cambridge 
churches  pressed  him  to  accept  its  pulpit,  but,  after  some  months 
of  mental  and  spiritual  conflict,  he  "  did  both  send  back  the  monie 
thci  would  have  given  him,  and  also  give  them  warning  of  his  de- 
parture." He  could  not  take  ordination  from  the  bishops,  and  his 
mind  was  so  exercised  by  that  **  wofull  state  of  Cambridge  whcre- 
into  those  wicked  prelats  &  doctors  of  divinitic  had  brought  it," 
that  he  "  fell  soare  sick."  When  recovered  *'  he  took  counscll 
still  &  had  no  rest,  What  he  might  do  for  the  name  &  kingdom 
of  God.  He  often  complained  of  these  cvill  daies  &  with  manie 
teares  sought  where  to  find  the  righteous  which  glorified  God, 
with  whom  he  might  live  &  rcioise  together,  that  thci  putt  awaie 
abominations."  While  thus  mournfully  studying  the  Bible  and  his 
duty,  it  flashed  upon  him  that  genuine  spiritual  reformation  "was 
not  to  be  begun  by  whole  parishes,  but  rather  off  [by]  the  worthiest, 
were  they  never  so  fewe."  This  idea  he  found  the  Scripture 
to  sustain.  It  was  the  seminal  principle  of  the  original  Congrega- 
tionalism. As  such,  it  started  him  upon  a  new  track  of  thought, 
which  grew  luminous  day  by  day.  Hearing  that  there  were  those 
in  Norwich  who  were  warm  with  a  kindred  desire  for  reform,  he 
went  thither,  and  there,  after  a  few  months  of  prayer  and  medita- 
tion over  the  Scriptures,  he  came  at  length  into  the  clear  convic- 
tion that  believers  in  any  place  who  wish  to  walk  with  God  and 
with  each  other,  need  not  wait  for  authorization  from  Queen  or 
Prelate,  but  separate  themselves  from  the  world,  and  embody  in 
local  companies,  each  of  which  —  being  properly  confederate  — 
becomes  a  true  Church  of  Christ,  competent  to  choose  and  ordain 
one  of  its  own  members  as  its  pastor,  and,  in  suitable,  practical 
union  with  other  like  bodies,  competent  to  every  Christian  word 


and  work.     At  some  time  in   1580,  with  a  few  associates  who 
thought  and  felt  with  him,  he  formed  in  Norwich,  by  mutual  cove- 
nant, what  I  believe  to  have  been  the  first  Congregational  Church 
since  the  last  of  those  which  had  been  founded  in  Apostolic  days» 
yielded  its  life  under  the  intolerable  pressure  —  the  peine  forte  ct 
dure — of  the  superincumbent  weight  of  an  intolerable  hierarchy. 
He  thoroughly  elaborated  his  system.     It  resulted  in  practical 
democracy,  inasmuch  as  although  Browne  had  no  notion  of  in- 
herent  individual   rights,  he   held   that  each  believer  is  a  vice* 
gcrcnt  of  Christ,  through  whom  Christ  reigns.     This  system  was 
Brownism,  but,  contrary  to  the  popular  conception,  it  recognized 
fellowship  by  council.     He  was  persecuted,  as  everybody  was  in 
those  days  who  dared  to  think  for  himself.     His  little  company 
emigrated  in  a  body  to  Middelberg,  in  Zealand.     There  for  a  time 
they  flourished,  and  Browne  published  several  treatises  ably  ex- 
pounding and  defending  his  system.     But  all  his  people  were  mis- 
erably poor  and  most  were  uneducated,  and  they  had  taken  too 
large  a  contract  to  keep  each  other  in  order ;   so  that,  unfit,  at 
once,  to  bear  responsibilities,  to  which  their  preparation  and  cir- 
cumstances were  inadequate,  their  company  before  long  went  to 
pieces — Browne  retreating  to  Scotland,  and  then  to  England.     To 
make  bad  matters  as  much  worse  as  might  be,  he  himself,  under 
the  pressure  and  patronage  of  his  noble  kinsman  Lord  Burghley, 
went   back  to  the  Establishment,  and  took  the  petty  living  of 
Achurch-cum-Thorpe;  so   that  all  which  can  save  his  subsequent 
forty  years  from  censure,  and  rescue  his  earlier  career  from  the 
ignominy  of  presumed    hypocrisy,  or  admitted  apostasy,  is  the 
conviction,  for  which  there  is  much  reasonable  evidence,  that^ 
always  in  poor  health,  he  became  so  diseased  in  mind  as  to  be,  in 
this  latter  portion  of  his  life,  always  on  the  borders  of  insanity^ 
sometimes    passing   over  into    clear    irresponsibility.      There    is 
neither  hypocrisy  nor  disorder  of  reason  about  his  books;  and 
they  with  great  power  set  forth  the  theories  which,  when  he  wrote 
them,  he  surely  sincerely  held.     How  much  influence  they  had 
over  the  minds  of  Barrow  and  Greenwood,  who  came  into  notice  as 
Separatists  a  few  years  after,  it  is  impossible  to  say;    but  they 
adopted  his  system,  so  far  as  the  duty  of  separation  from  the  State 
Church,  the  right  of  forming  local  churches  by  covenant,  and 
kindred  features,  were  concerned.     They  seem,  however,  to  have 


reasoned  that  the  collapse  of  the  Middelberg  endeavor  was  due  to 
its  practical  democracy ;  to  avoid  which  it  seemed  to  them  wiser 
to  entrust  the  government  of  the  church  to  a  few  of  its  wisest  and 
most  experienced  members.  Their  system  thus  became  an  amal- 
gamation of  Congregationalism  with  one  feature  of  the  new  Pres- 
byterianism.  It  was  Congregational  in  that  it  advocated  local 
churches,  each  confederated  by  covenant,  with  officers  chosen  by 
itself,  independent  of  earthly  control,  yet  recognizing  obligations 
of  fellowship  to  all  bodies  of  like  faith  and  order ;  it  was  Presby- 
terian in  that  it  would  have  each  of  these  churches  governed  by  a 
session  of  lay  ruling  elders,  which  the  membership  were  first  to 
elect,  and  then  to  obey  in  the  Lord. 

This  was  Barrowism,  which,  by  1592,  had  a  Church,  under 
difficulties,  fully  organized  in  London.  After  the  martyrdom  of 
Barrow,  Greenwood  and  Perry,  that  portion  of  the  Church  largely 
made  its  way  to  Holland,  where  it  remained  for  four  years  without 
its  pastor,  and  for  a  considerable  period  without  the  sacraments ; 
and  not  until  1597  were  all  its  emigrating  officers  and  members  — 
escaping  from  various  jails  and  banishments  —  able  to  commence 
together  its  Amsterdam  life  of  troubles.  Nine  years  after  John 
Smyth  and  his  little  Church  from  Gainsborough-on-Trcnt  settled 
at  their  side ;  and,  two  years  later  still,  came  John  Robinson  and 
his  company  from  Scrooby  — the  next  year  to  remove  to  Leyden. 
There  is  not  here  space  to  describe  how  this  attempt  to  run  a 
Congregational  Church  on  a  Presbyterian  plan  fared  so  ill  that 
neither  the  High-Church  Barrowism  of  Francis' Johnson,  the  Low- 
Church  Barrowism  of  Henry  Ainsworth,  nor  the  Broad-Church 
Barrowism  of  John  Robinson,  proved  equal  to  any  permanently 
satisfactory  solution  of  the  problem  how  a  body,  under  Christ, 
controlled  by  its  members,  can  also  and  especially,  under  Christ, 
be  controlled  by  its  Elders.  Robinson  achieved  practical  com- 
fort under  it  by  having  but  one  Elder;  by  never  filling  the  vacant 
place  after  his  occasions  led  Brewster  across  the  sea;  and  by 
undertaking  no  control  beyond  what  belongs  to  intelligent  moral 

A  fragment  of  the  church  which  under  Francis  Johnson  be- 
came the  **  Ancient  English  church  in  Amsterdam,"  appears 
never  to  have  left  London.  There  is  some  evidence  that  it  main- 
tained there  a  secluded  and  precarious  life  for  three-and-twenty 


years  or  more  under  one  "Mr.  Lee,'*  until,  after  his  death,  it  joined 
itself  to  a  small  company  organized  in  Southwark  by  Henry  Jacob 
returning  from  Leyden ;  the  two  together  constituting  the  mother 
Congregational  church  of  England.  As  the  ferment  of  the  civil 
war  came  on,  Separatism  made  sudden  expansion ;  until,  under 
favor  of  Cromwell,  it  acquired  force  enough  to  send  two  hundred 
delegates  to  a  Synod,  in  1658,  which  adjusted  the  Westminster 
Confession  to  Congregational  needs  as  the  Savoy  Declaration,  and 
consolidated  a  denomination  of  Christians  in  England,  which,  in 
spite  of  vigorous  and  unrelenting  legal  persecution  and  through 
more  than  two  hundred  years  of  social  ostracism,  has  steadily  and 
solidly  advanced  until  to-day  it  numbers  more  than  4000  churches 
and  exerts,  in  a  thousand  ways,  even  around  the  world,  a  wide  and 
beneficent  influence. 

The  Leyden-Plymouth  company  which  founded  the  "Old 
Colony,'*  was  left  there  for  nearly  ten  years  without  a  pastor  on 
the  ^;round.  This  force  of  circumstance  added  to  the  tone  of 
Mr.  Robinson's  previous  influence,  developed  the  rresbyterian 
clement  out  of  their  theoretical  Barrowism,  until  it  became,  in  prac- 
tice, little  more  than  Brownism  itself  The  Nonconformity  which 
the  Massachusetts  immigrants  brought  over  was  of  the  crudest  de- 
scription—  to  the  extent  even  of  imagining  some  sort  of  connec- 
tion with  the  church  of  I'jigland  still  —  but  matters  soon  changed 
at  home,  and  the  influence  of  the  Plymouth  men  combined  with 
the  inevitable  effect  of  circumstances,  to  consolidate  the  colonizing 
forces  of  New  England  into  essential  Congregationalism.  Cotton, 
Davenport  and  Hooker,  however,  could  not  forget  that  Browne 
had  just  died  the  death  of  a  renegade  in  Northampton  jail.  They 
had  probably  never  seen  any  of  his  books,  which  the  blaze  fed  by 
the  h.angman  had  made  among  the  scarcest  of  all  the  Separatist 
literature;  and  their  language  shows  that  they  gravely  misunder- 
stood his  systc!m,  of  which  it  was  then  the  fashion  to  speak  in  con-  • 
temptuous  disparagement.  So,  led  largely  on  by  too  close  an 
interpretation  of  a  few  i)assages  [like  Rom.  xii:  6-8,  I  Cor.  xii: 
28,  and  I  Tim.  v:  17]  they  established  Barrowism  as  the  type  of 
New  lingland  Congrei;ationalism.  As  such  it  shaped  and  colored 
the  Cambridge  Platform,  and  gave  rise  to  that  enigma  of  Congre- 
gational Ruling  Elders,  which  has  i)uzzled  the  generations  since, 
and  of  which,  at  any  time  for  near  two  hundred  years,  the  angel  of 


truth  might  have  said,  as  the  Revelator  did  to  the  church  in  Sardis : 
"thou  hast  a  name  that  thou  livest,  and  thou  art  dead."  New 
England  never  took  to  it, — never  even  fairly  tried  it.  Not,  after  many 
years  of  vague  unrest,  until  the  days  of  the  great  John  Wise  of 
Ipswich,  and,  two  generations  later,  of  the  acute  Nathaniel  Em- 
mons of  Franklin,  was  that  alien  clement  of  the  polity  thoroughly 
sloughed  off,  and  the  demonstration  made  that  democracy  is  not 
only  a  secure,  but  the  best,  government,  whether  for  church  or 
state.  And  so  —  after  almost  three  centuries — those  votes  which 
the  members  of  Robert  Browne's  little  church  at  Middelberg  indi- 
vidually gave  —  not  as  by  birth  entitled,  but  as  vicegerents  of 
Christ,  American  Congregationalists  now  cast — under  deep  sense 
of  obligation  to  the  Master,  indeed,  and  with  chief  desire  to  please 
him  —  humbly  as  of  their  own  right,  as  intelligent  and  responsible 
members  of  a  spiritual  republic. 

It  would,  no  doubt,  have  been  an  extraordinary  thing  if  the 
early  New  England  Congregationalists  had  not  brought  with  them 
the  ideas  into  which  they  had  been  born,  and  had  not  gone  on,  as 
they  were  bred,  to  ally  church  and  state.  It  would  have  been 
more  extraordinary,  if,  as  the  world  was  advancing,  especially  on 
this  side  of  the  sea,  they  had  not  suffered  for  this.  It  is,  possibly, 
most  extraordinary  that  their  descendants  should  in  all  misunder- 
stand and  theli  misjudge  them,  as  if  they  held,  and  violated,  a 
theory  of  liberty  of  conscience,  and  because  under  singular  diffi- 
culties they  did  not  by  two  hundred  years  outgrow  their  con- 

Before  the  coming  in  of  the  19th  century.  Congregational 
Churches  scarcely  existed  out  of  New  England.  And  the  first 
generation  of  this  century  had  nearly  passed  before  New  England 
Congregationalists  emigrating  to  newer  parts  of  the  land  became 
aware  that  Presbyterianism  is  not  the  same  thing  under  another 
name,  and  made  serious  inquiry  why  what  had  worked  so  well  in 
the  East  was  not  at  least  worthy  of  being  tried  as  an  experiment 
in  the  West.  That  experiment  has  been  tried  with  the  result  that, 
on  January  last,  there  were,  in  five-and-twenty  States  and  Terri- 
tories west  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Mississippi,  reported  2196  Congre- 
gational Churches,  to  1484  in  New  England  —  to  4170  in  all; 
although  New  England  still  retained  a  small  supremacy  of  mem- 


bership,  having  214,108  members,  the  other  forty-one  States  and 
Territories  reporting  204,456. 

These  figures,  it  will  of  course  be  understood,  refer  to  those 
^'Orthodox"  Congregationalists,  who,  since  1871,  have  been  con- 
federated in  the  National  Council,  which,  without  authority,  but 
for  purposes  of  fellowship,  mutual  acquaintance  and  cooperation 
in  denominational  work,  by  delegation  from  the  Churches  meets 
once  in  three  years.  As,  in  strictness,  Congregationalism  is 
purely  a  form  of  Church  government.  Churches  of  widely  different 
faiths  may  hold  and  practise  it.  Thus,  111  a  sense,  Baptists,  Uni- 
tarians and  Univcrsalists  are  Congregationalists  —  together  making 
in  this  country  an  aggregate  of  over  30,000  bodies  of  Christian 
believers  who  differ  among  themselves  as  to  various  points  of 
faith,  yet  agree  to  practise  the  democratic  polity  in  distinction 
from  the  aristocracy  of  Prcsbytcrianism,  or  the  more  or  less 
limited  monarchy  of  the  various  forms  of  Episcopacy.  With  the 
exception  that  the  Unitarian  Churches,  which  had  their  genesis  by 
a  separation  from  the  old  Churches  of  New  England  because  of 
the  growth  of  divergent  views  as  to  the  Trinity,  the  nature  of 
Christ,  and  related  doctrines,  often  retain  the  Congregational 
name,  it  is  uniformity  understood,  however,  to  designate  those 
who  retain,  for  substance,  the  faith  of  their  fathers. 

Church  life  stands  upon,  and  Church  work  grows  out  of,  some 
doctrinal  conviction,  and  the  revived  Congregationalism  of  Eng- 
land rested  upon,  and  gained  its  value  to  those  who  professed  it, 
from  its  distinct  and  earnest  dogmatic  character.  It  was  because 
Robert  Browne  could  not  see  a  straight  road  to  Heaven  through 
any  other  polity,  that  his  mind  found  rest  in  this.  All  the  early 
symbols  of  Congregationalism  therefore,  naturally,  with  great 
exactness  set  forth  the  ancient  faith.  The  formal  adoption  by 
English  Congregationalists  of  the  Westminster  Confession,  and  by 
New  Englanders  of  the  Savoy  Declaration,  establishes  the  es- 
sential Calvinism  of  the  Congregational  Churches  of  that  day. 
And,  while  large  liberty  has  obtained  among  Congregationalists 
in  the  interpretation  of  the  ancient  symbols,  every  successive 
utterance — as  of  the  Boston  Council  of  1865,  of  the  Oberlin 
Council  of  1 87 1,  and  of  the  Creed  Commission  of  1883 — h«^ 
substantially  reaffirmed  them  in  distinction  from  their  opposites. 
The  National  Council  incorporated  into  its  organic  law  the  decla- 


ration  that  the  Churches  constituting  it  *'  agree  in  belief  that  the 
Holy  Scriptures  are  the  sufficient  and  only  infallible  rule  of 
religious  faith  and  practice ;  their  interpretation  thereof  being  in 
substantial  accordance  with  the  great  doctrines  of  the  Christian 
faith  commonly  called  Evangelical,  held  in  our  Churches  from  the 
early  times,  and  sufficiently  set  forth  by  former  General  Councils." 
So  that  it  may  earnestly  be  doubted  whether  it  be  an  act  of  good 
faith  becoming  holy  things,  for  either  Church  or  minister,  who 
has  ill  any  essential  degree  departed  from  the  Evangelical  faith,  as 
Congregationa.lists  have  been  wont  to  interpret  it,  to  continue  to 
-seek  to  be  called  by  their  distinctive  name. 

It  was  a  chief  reason  why,  down  to  the  time  of  the  Rebellion, 
Congregationalism  advanced  so  slowly,  that  the  South  was  inhos- 
pitable to  it.  Edmund  Burke  said  of  our  New  England  fathers  in 
his  place  in  Parliament,  that  their  "mode  of  professing  religion" 
was  the  **main  cause"  of  their  "fierce  spirit  of  liberty."  A 
Congregational  Church  suggested  to  Thomas  Jefferson  the  idea 
that  itS  **  pure  democracy  would  provide  the  best  plan  of  govern- 
ment for  the  nation."  The  natural  training  which  such  a  Church 
gives  its  members  is  as  much  more  kindly  than  that  of  other 
polities  in  fitting  them  for  good  use  and  work  in  a  democratic 
commonwealth,  as  a  merchant  ship  is  better  than' a  machine-shop 
in  training  sailors  for  service  on  board  of  a  man-of-war.  To  say, 
as  has  again  and  again  been  urged,  that  the  aristocratic  or  mon- 
archic polities  especially  befit  the  American  idea  of  the  State,  is 
to  avow  that  grapes  may  grow  on  thorns,  and  to  promise  figs 
from  thistles. 

244  7///:'  WILD  GLEN  RIVER. 


By  J.  K.   LUDLUM. 

"  I  don't  care,  auntie,  I'll  not  go !  " 

**  Why  not.  Pen  ?  " 

**  Because  I've  another  engagement.  Norman  Leslie  can  wait 
until  to-morrow  if  he  wishes  me  to  drive  with  him ;  if  not,  he  can 
get  some  one  else.  I  think  poor  old  Dinah  needs  her  rheumatism 
medicine  far  more  than  Mr.  Leslie  needs  this  pleasure-drive." 

**  But,  child," — Mrs.  Hunter  said,  impatiently,  **  Dinah  can  ga 
without  her  medicine  for  one  day,  or  one  of  the  servants  can 
carry  it  to  her  if  it  must  go,  rather  than  for  you  to  offend  this  rich 
Mr.  Leslie.  Why,  Penelope  Grey,  he  has  more  gold  than  you 
ever  thought  of  possessing,  and  you  know  you  can  have  it  for  the 
taking !  " 

"But  there's  an  incumbrance  goes  with  it,  auntie;  you  forget 

**  What  incumbrance?"  demands  Mrs.  Hunter,  sharply. 

*'  Why,  the  man  himself,  of  course  !  "  answered  Pen,  laughing, 
though  her  checks  were  red  as  roses.  "  Besides  he  hasn't  yet 
asked  me,  auntie !  " 

"  But  he  would  if  you'd  only  give  him  the  chance,  child ;  you 
know  that ;  and  this  drive  will  be  such  a  splendid  opportunity  !  " 

"It  won't,"  retorted  Pen,  decidedly, — "that  is,  not  to-day^ 
auntie.    Dinah  needs  her  medicine  and  she  shall  have  it  I  " 

**  But  one  of  the  servants  can  take  it  just  as  well.  Pen." 

"  No,  she  couldn't,  auntie,  for  Dinah  always  likes  to  have  me 
read  to  her  and  talk  to  her  of  mother,  and  would  be  disappointed 
if  I  didn't  go,  although  she'd  never  say  so.  She  was  so  faithful 
to  mother  always,  auntie,  why,"  —  and  the  girl  laughed  softly  again 
— "  I  wouldn't  disappoint  aunt  Dinah  for  any  fine  cavalier  in  the 
whole  wide  world!  If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  terrible  rain  we've 
had  for  the  last  three  days,  and  the  breaking  up  of  the  ice  and 
snow,  I  would  have  gone  long  ago.  So,  when  Mr.  Norman  Leslie 
calls,  you  may  tell  him  to  come  again  or  anything  you  choose^ 
except  that  I  am  anxious  to  have  his  money !  " 


**  Then,  if  you  are  bound  to  go,  you  must  take  the  carriage. 
Pen.  It  isn't  fit  for  you  to  walk.  You'll  be  sure  to  go  over  the 
bridge,  and  it  isn't  at  all  safe." 

**  Not  a  bit  of  it !  "  Penelope  called  back  gaily,  as  she  ran  up 
stairs  to  prepare  for  her  trip.  **  I  wouldn't  be  hired  to  ride  to  day,, 
auntie.  A  walk  will  do  me  good  after  these  stupid  dzys  rain- 
bound  in  the  house  !  " 

The  afternoon  was  beautiful  overhead  as  Pen  sallied  forth,  but 
the  rain  and  thaw  made  walking  unpleasant,  and  the  girl  had  ta 
pick  her  way  carefully  along  the  dripping  paths  across  the  mead- 
ows, smiling  to  herself  as  she  thought  over  the  past  conversation 
in  regard  to  Mr.  Leslie,  '*the  catch"  in  Parkhurst  village,  who  had 
devoted  himself  to  her  since  first  she  came  to  spend  the  winter 
with  her  mother's  sister. 

As  she  walked  down  between  the  hills  her  ears  were  filled  with 
the  roar  of  wat<:rs  where  paths  were  brooks,  tiny  brooks  were  little 
rivers,  and  cataracts  dashed,  foaming,  over  the  rocks  and  fallen 
trees.  Crossing  Glen  River  bridge,  she  paused  and  looked  up 
toward  the  western  hills,  laughing  aloud  in  a  gleeful  way  to  see 
the  waters  dashing  down  and  sweeping  away  under  her  feet  with 
a  sullen  roar  that  boded  ill  had  she  but  known  it. 

Unconscious,  however,  of  any  danger,  she  went  on  her  way  to- 
wards the  tiny  brown  house  where  Dinah  lived  alone  with  her  cat 
and  rheumatism,  her  form  bent  with  age  and  pain,  though  her  dark 
face  held  a  gleam  of  light  in  it.  As  Penelope  entered  she  actually 
beamed  upon  her  till  the  girl  felt  she  had  been  blest,  she  scarcely 
knew  how. 

*'  Bress  yo'  fo'  comin'  honey?  "  the  old  woman  said  in  a  tremb- 
ling voice,  as  Pen  went  up  to  the  fire  where  she  sat  rocking  to  and 
fro,  her  cat  on  her  knee.  "  A  sight  ob  yo'  bright  face  is  better'n 
a  heap  o'  med'cine !  Whar  'd  yo'  git  all  dose  roses  in  yo' 
cheeks,  chile?" 

Pen  laughed. 

"  Oh,  aunt  Dinah,  how  the  river  does  wash  and  roar !  I  believe 
there  are  water-nymphs  up  in  the  hills,  they  are  so  full  of  gurg- 
ling, silvery  laughter  and  shouts  and  mumurs !  And  how  it 
rushes  under  the  bridge  like  an  avalanche  foaming  and  whirling,- 
as  though  driven  by  a  legion  of  Dante's  demons  !  " 

"Yo*   didn't  cross   de    bridge,    honey?"    gasped    Dinah,   her 


wrinkled  face  whitening  with  terror.  "Why,  chile,  *twant  long  *go 
dat  de  old  one  was  swcp'  away !  Yo'  mustn't  go  back  dat  way. 
Miss  Pen, — promise  ole  auntie  yo*  won't!  '* 

"  I'm  not  afraid ! "  said  the  girl,  cheerily.  "Where's  your  Bible 
auntie.     Shan't  I  read  to  you  a  while?" 

To  which  the  old  woman  answered : 

**  Brcss  yo'  bright  face,  chile !  But  you  mustn't  go  ober  dc 
bridge  *gain ! " 

The  sun  sank  low  down  among  the  hills  ere  Penelope  left  the 
old  woman,  smiling  peacefully  over  the  words  to  which  she  had 
listened,  and  started  out  for  home. 

"  Lor'  bress  yo'  chile,  for  de  comfort  yo'  ob  giv'  dis  ole  nigger  I 
But,  pray,  Mis'  Pcnl'pe,  don'  go  ober  de  Glen  Bridge ! " 

"Why,"  Pen  answered,  gaily;  "don't  worry  about  me,  aunt 
Dinah !     The  bridge  is  safe  enough,  you  know !     Good-bye,  111 

come  again  soon." 

And  she  was  gone  before  Dinah  could  offer  further  objections. 

"  Of  course  it's  safe  enough  !  "  said  Pen  to  herself,  as  she  sprang 
lightly  from  rock  to  rock  on  her  way  down  the  hillside.  "  Still  it 
docs  make  an  awful  time  about  it?"  and  her  laughter  rang  out 
clear  as  silver  bells  on  the  cool  air.  Then  she  burst  out  in  a  stray 
bit  of  song,  her  heart  glad  and  free  from  fear,  just  for  all  the  world 
like  a  little  brown  song-sparrow, —  the  words  of  her  song  floating 
away  on  the  winds,  to  mingle  witli  the  mad  roaring  of  the  river, 

"  All  dawn  the  loose-wcllcd  lanes  in  arc/tin*  breezes^ 
The  barbery  droops  ils  slrittgs  of  golden  Jlo-xerSy 
Whose  shrinlin*  hearts  the  school  gals  love  to  try 
With  pins ^ — they  II  ivorry  yours  io^  boys^  bime-by!** 

But  as  she  turned  a  sharp  ledge  and  came  suddenly  out  on  the 
overflowed  banks  of  the  river,  her  blithe  song  died  away  and  she 
paused  a  moment  to  consider  the  situation. 

Should,  or  should  she  not,  cross  the  bridge?  If  she  did  not 
slic  in-wist  retrace  her  steps  to  the  road,  The  sun  was  setting;  it 
would  be  dark  before  she  reached  home  if  she  went  back.  No» 
slie  would  keep  on.  Tlie  bridge  must  be  safe  enough,  even  tliough 
tlic  foam-tipped  waves,  black  as  night,  surged  up  and  over  it 

She  had  taken  off  her  hat  and  it  hung  by  its  broad  ribboris  on 
her  arm ;  the  winds  had  tossed  and  tumbled  her  hair  till  the  heavy 


coil  loosened  and  fell  in  a  mass  of  wavy  gold  down  to  her  waist» 
while  the  roses  still  hid  in  her  cheeks. 

Half  way  across  the  bridge  she  stopped  to  watch  the  rushing 
rivers.  How  the  waters  roared !  How  cold  as  death  were  the 
black  waves  that  swept  under  her  feet !  How  the  heavy  bridge 
swayed  and  trembled  and  cracked !  Tliere  I  One  plank  had 
gone  !  Suppose  the  one  she  was  on  should  give  way !  She  had 
not  thought  of  that.  Some  way  she  had  an  idea  if  the  bridge 
went  at  all,  it  would  go  at  once  in  a  mass.  What  if,  after  all,  it 
proved  too  weak  to  resist  the  mad  rush  of  waters. 

The  whirling  waves  were  like  a  horrible,  yawning  grave — ^black, 
resistless — with  only  the  swaying  bridge  between.  She  must 
hurry  and  get  off  as  soon  as  possible.  What  would  Dinah  say  if 
she  knew?  What  would  aunt  Mary  say?  That  she  should  not 
have  gone,  of  course.  And  Norman  Leslie — Did  he  call  for  her, 
and  was  he  vexed  that  she  was  gone?  After  all,  did  he  really  care 
for  her  as  aunt  Mary  said? 

With  a  faint  smile  she  turned  to  cross,  but  a  great  dizziness 
swept  over  her,  and  she  caught  at  the  railing  for  support. 

How  the  bridge  swayed  and  groaned?  How  the  black  waters 
surged  around  her?  The  hills  were  filled  with  voices,  with  shouts 
and  wild  laughter  and  wailing!  She  grew  white  as  death.  Was 
she  losing  her  senses,  she  wondered, — ^was  she  going  mad?  Were 
there  mermaids  up  there  in  the  rocky  caverns  mingling  their  elfin 
laughter  with  the  wailing  of  their  victims?  How  the  winds  caught 
up  the  sounds  and  tossed  them  to  and  fro  among  the  rocks  and 
leaping  waters ! 

The  rays  of  the  setting  sun  struck  through  the  swaying  mist 
among  the  hills,  touching  the  mad  river  waves  to  greenish  foam, 
lighting  up  the  fair,  sweet  face  of  the  girl  on  the  swaying  bridge — 
falling  across  her  warm  golden  hair  and  casting  deep  gleams  of 
red  through  it, —  while  the  long  silken  lashes  shadowing  her  soft 
brown  eyes  were  like  fringes  of  gold. 

Suddenly,  above  the  tumult  and  roar,  she  caught  the  shout — 

"  Be  quick,  for  your  life  1      T/ie  bridge  is  going  /  " 

Instinctively  she  tried  to  obey,  her  ears  ringing  with  the  wild 
echoes  among  the  hills,  a  terrible  blackness  before  her  eyes,  a  feel- 
ing as  though  the  waters  of  death  were  dashing  over  her  feet;  and 


staggering  back  she  clung  to  the  iron  pillars  nearest  her  with  a 
last  desperate  effort. 

The  tumult  increased.  Down  from  the  hills,  around  the  bend^ 
came  a  great  wall  of  waters  sweeping  toward  the  bridge  with  a 
roar  that  was  deafening. 

At  the  same  instant  swift  horsehoofs  thundered  along  the 
bridge,  and  the  fainting,  terrified  girl  was  caught  up  in  strong, 
manly  arms  and  borne  beyond  danger. 

There  was  a  rush  and  roar,  a  crash  and  rumble  as  of  thunder,, 
and  a  whirling,  seething  mass  of  twisted  and  broken  iron  and  steel 
and  timber  swept  down  the  triumphant  river. 

Penelope,  grown  brave  again  as  soon  as  she  felt  the  strong  arms 
about  her,  looked  up  into  her  preserver's  face  with  misty  eyes  and 
trembling,  pallid  lips. 

**  Mr.  Leslie,"  she  said,  so  low  and  soft  he  had  to  bend  his  head 
to  her,  "  how  did  you  know — " 

"Your  aunt  told  me  you  came  this  way,"  he  answered,  drawing 
her  closer  to  him,  his  face  strangely  grave  and  noble  in  the  fading 
light ;  **  and  I  knew  it  was  not  safe,  so  I  left  my  horses  at  Mrs. 
Hunter's  gate  and  took  the  best  saddle  horse  they  had  in  the 
stable.  Pen,  you  would  not  givi  me  the  opportunity  I  sought,  so 
I  take  it  whether  or  no.  Will  you  let  me — ^will  you  give  me  the 
right  to  hold  you — so — all  our  lives,  dear  little  Pen?" 

What  she  answered  does  not  matter  to  any  one  but  themselves^ 
and  the  river,  shouting  its  jubilate,  had  never  a  moment  to  listen; 
but  the  dying  glow  of  the  sunset  deepened  the  wild  roses  in  the 
cheeks  of  Penelope  Grey  as  she  answered  Norman  Leslie  down 
by  the  wild  Glen  River. 



By  rev.  WM.  I.  GILL,  A.  M. 

Much,  but  far  too  little,  have  we  heard  of  the  Transcendentalism 
of  New  England.  It  has  been  viewed  all  too  narrowly,  as  if  it 
were  but  a  very  slim  shaft  of  trap-rock  shot  up  from  the  abyss, 
instead  of  being  considered,  as  it  is,  in  fact,  only  a  slight  upward 
curve  in  the  great  back-bone  of  all  human  thought  and  life.  It  has 
been  traced  back  to  Kant  as  its  supposed  source  and  anterior  end. 
But  on  this  matter  Kant  had  nothing  new  but  the  name  and  a 
peculiar  method  of  exposition.  At  the  best,  he  was  but  a  branch 
on  the  trunk  of  the  world's  intellectual  life. 

The  Kantian  form  of  transcendentalism  was  the  result  of  an 
•effort  to  rebut  the  skepticism  of  Hume;  who,  he  tells  us,  "  broke 
the  dogmatic  slumbers"  in  which  he  was  indulging.  Hume  had 
shown  that  the  logical  consequence  of  the  philosophical  specula- 
tions of  Descartes,  Locke  and  Berkeley  is,  that  we  know  nothing 
but  **  impressions  and  ideas."  The  justice  of  this  conclusion  Kant 
could  not  deny ;  nor  could  he  deny  that  it  is  strictly  true ;  and  he 
-was  obliged  to  acquiesce  in  the  modern  doctrine  that  man  knows 
nothing  beyond  the  phenomena  of  feeling  and  thought  and  pur- 
pose. Man  is  thus  shut  up  to  himself  as  the  subject  of  these 
experiences,  which  he  can  never  transcend  by  direct  speculative 

What  then  ?  Shall  we  throw  philosophy  overboard  as  an  ulti- 
mate intellectual  satisfaction,  and  then  be  content  with  a  pure 
empiricism  based  on  sensible  experience,  like  Hume?  Kant 
answered  in  the  affirmative  to  the  first  part  of  the  question,  but  not 
the  latter  part.  He  confessed  with  Hume  that  a  perfect  and  ulti- 
mate speculative  philosophy  is  impossible;  but  otherwise,  in  spite 
of  this,  by  a  peculiar  method  he  reached  a  far  nobler  conclusion 
than  that  of  Hume — not  an  earth-born  empiricism,  but  a  celestial 
transcendentalism.  By  a  moral  stair-case  abutting  on  conscience 
he  mounts  as  on  wings  to  the  skies  and  to  God. 


rt  IS  true,  he  said,  the  universe  is  only  our  own  complex  sub- 
jective state,  the  sensible  modus  of  our  own  mind,  so  that  directly 
we  know  nothing  but  impressions  and  ideas;  but  then  that  is  all 
we  need  to  know.  That  knowledge  involves  regjulative  principles 
or  psychological  laws,  which  carry  with  them  a  self-elucidating 
light.  We  thence  see  that  the  human  mind  is  constructed  on  a 
rational  plan  and  that  its  limitations  result  from  the  action  of  laws 
which  are  the  manifest  expression  of  intelligence.  These  laws 
serve  to  regulate  all  our  sensible  action  and  life.  Hence  in  this 
system  they  are  termed  regulative  ideas,  or  laws,  or  principles. 
These  are  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  due  action  of  the  sense  life,, 
and  for  this  they  are  effective. 

Even  here  we  are  avast  distance  above  the  empiricism  of  Hume. 
We  are  in  a  world  of  psychological  law,  the  necessity  of  which  we 
can,  a  priori,  understand. 

But  right  in  the  midst  of  this  a-priori-sense-universe  we  find 
the  soul  and  creative  spirit  of  another  universe  which  is  still  in- 
finitely grander  —  the  moral  and  religious  universe.  This  is  found 
to  consist  in  the  moral  intuition,  or  as  Rant  calls  it,  the  pra':tical 
reason.  As  the  regulative  laws  of  space  and  time  govern  all  our 
mundane  life,  so  conscience  or  practical  reason  overtops  all  times 
and  spaces,  and  governs  all  life  absolutely  in  the  interests  of  right 
and  duty,  and  goodness  and  love,  which  the  moral  intuition  pro- 
nounces to  be  the  supreme  quality  and  supreme  end. 

As  the  speculative  or  pure  reason  in  the  regulative  laws  of  our 
mundane  system  points  to  a  rational  force,  transcending  these 
laws,  whence  they  spring  and  which  they  represent,  we  have 
hence  a  speculative  transcendentalism.  So  also  here,  the  practical 
reason  finds  not  its  end  and  adequate  scope  in  this  form  of  life, 
and  it  therefore  points  to  a  power  and  a  sphere  which  are  perfect 
and  infinite.  Thus  all  the  real  scope  and  force  and  end,  or  issue 
of  this  life  are  transcendental  to  this  life.  A  world  of  involuntary 
subjective  states,  generated  by  the  action  of  these  subjective  regu- 
lative laws,  furnishes  a  sphere  for  all  practical  action  in  the  ex- 
pression and  development  of  all  the  moral  and  spiritual  life,  and 
of  all  other  powers  which  are  subsidiary  thereto,  and  thence  for 
the  attainment  of  highest  transcendental  ends. 

This  transcendental  moral  issue  is  precisely  the  essential  quality 
of  all  lofty  religious  thought  and  feeling  in  all  ages  and  countries.. 


The  difference  is  only  in  a  part  of  the  route  by  which  the  goal  has 
been  reached.  Most  other  great  souls  have  reached  it  without 
going  through  the  submarine  tunnel  of  idealism,  and  without 
elaborating  Kant's  ponderous  scheme  of  a-priori  exposition  and 
proof.  Their  practical  reason  has  been  shot  through  with  the 
light  which  comes  from  the  eternal  and  central  sun  of  the  uni- 
verse. They  have  ascended  to  their  lofty  position  by  no  circling 
back  stairs  of  questionable  a-priori  logic.  Spontaneously  and 
inevitably,  they  have  risen  by  the  law  of  a  celestial  attraction,  and 
become  the  eternal  satellites  of  the  infinite.  They  may  have  been 
vulgar  dualists  in  philosophy,  but  they  were  none  the  less  exalted 
as  moral  and  spiritual  transccndcntalists.  Thus  Gautama  and 
Confucius  were  here  quite  as  transcendental  as  Kant  or  Emer- 
son ;  and  in  this  spirit  Jesus  constantly  appealed  to  the  highest 
form  of  thought  and  moral  incentive,  transcending  all  mortal 
motives  and  interests.  He  exclaims  with  vehemence,  "Why  do 
ye  not  even  of  yourselves  judge  what  is  Right?"  Paul  also  said 
that  he  *' commended  the  truth  to  every  man's  conscience  in  the 
sight  of  God."  Here  is  the  direct  recognition  of  the  supremacy 
and  transcendentalism  of  the  practical  reason.  This  is  the  trend 
of  all  serious  and  deep  thinking,  the  goal  of  all  earnest  and  honest 
practical  purpose,  and  the  day-star  of  all  man's  noblest  hope. 

In  Jacobi  we  see  this  in  close  connection  with  the  special  think- 
ing of  Kant.  With  this  thinking  Jacobi  was  deeply  imbued ;  and 
yet  he  cared  little  for  its  speculative  clement  and  form,  which,  to 
his  mind,  obscured  the  practical ;  and  so,  rather  as  an  opponent 
of  Kant,  he  pleaded  and  advocated  with  eloquence  and  spiritual 
feeling  for  the  practical  transcendentalism  which  was  the  chief 
outcome  and  final  object  of  all  Kant's  labors.  Jacobi's  faith  was 
spiritual  intuition,  and  nothing  else  than  Kant's  practical  reason. 
In  Fichte  we  see  a  stronger  and  sterner  intellect  than  Jacobi's 
and  a  spirit  of  far  greater  fervor  working  for  the  same  end  till 
speedily  self-consumed,  while  he  is  still  more  thorough  than 
Kant  himself  in  the  doctrine  that  we  directly  know  only  our  own 
subjective  states. 

While  others  than  speculative  idealists  have  lived  in  this  lofty 
region,  it  cannot  be  intelligently  questioned  that  idealism,  well 
conceived,  does  elevate  the  mind,  does  most  profoundly  impress 
"the    categorical  imperative, "  does  bring   into  bolder  relief   the 


grand  realities  of  the  moral  and  spiritual  universe  as  the  only 
proper  and  ultimate  reality.  This,  if  not  suffused  with  an  element 
of  common  sense,  may  result  in  fantastic  courses  and  schemes 
like  the  whilom  "  Brook  Farm  "  of  New  England  transcendenal- 
ism;  but,  even  then,  it  is  far  better  and  wiser  than  dualistic 
transcendentalism  as  seen  in  Fourier  and  Owen  and  others. 

We  are  thus  led  to  see  that  all  the  advanced  practical  life  and 
thought  of  the  world  is  transcendentalism  in  one  form  or  another. 
It  transcends  the  average  ideas  and  aims  of  mankind.  It  tran- 
scends, in  its  ultimate  motive  and  object  the  low-born  enjoyments 
with  which  they  are  disposed  to  be  satisfied.  It  impresses  moral 
and  spiritual  ideas  as  intrinsically  regnant  and  as  of  limitless 
authority  and  as  despising  all  the  bounds  of  spaces  and  times. 
It  thus  lives  in  a  transcendental  world  as  its  native  sphere  and 
home.     It  ever  sings : 

Before  the  starry  threshold  of  Jove's  court 
My  mansion  is,  where  those  immortal  shapes 
Of  bright  aerial  spirits  are  insphered 
In  regions  mild,  of  calm  and  serene  air 
Above  the  smoke  and  stir  of  this  dim  spot. 
Which  men  call  Earth. 

Idealism,  or  transcendentalism,  is  of  two  kinds,  the  speculative 
and  the  practical.  That  of  Kant  was  both,  but  the  speculative 
was  far  the  most  conspicuous.  That  of  Emerson  and  his  New 
England  confreres  made  the  practical  supremely  paramount.  In 
him  the  speculative  idealism  was  quite  well  developed,  while  in 
Geo.  VVm.  Curtis,  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  the  rest  of  the  brother- 
hood, it  was  only  very  inchoative.  They  were  in  the  main 
dualists  of  the  modern"  phase,  or,  if  monists,  their  monism  was  of 
a  very  undefined  character.  On  the  whole,  it  was  the  transcen- 
dentalism of  the  practical  reason  which  formed  their  governing 
and  characteristic  clement.  It  is  thus  that  they  are  seen  to  be 
essentially  one  with  the  superior  souls  of  all  ages  who  have 
developed  well  and  followed  faithfully  their  highest  spiritual  light; 
while  they  enjoy  at  the  same  time  the  distinction  of  constituting 
a  peculiarly  lofty  intellectual  type,  more  or  less  inspired  and 
molded  by  the  speculative  transcendentalism  of  Kant. 



During  a  visit  to  the  good  old  New  England  States  in  a  recent 
summer,  I  became  interested  in  the  "grave-yard  literature"  of  the 
-quiet  country  towns;  those  staid  and  eminently  respectable 
villages  which  have  pursued  the  even  tenor  of  their  ways  with 
little  change  in  some  respects  since  the  pioneer  days  that  now 
belong  to  "Auld  Lang  Syne."  Fresh  from  the  bustling,  progres- 
sive West,  it  almost  seemed  to  me  that  these  communities  had 
been  indulging  in  a  Rip  Van  Winkle  slumber;  yet  now  and  then 
something  of  a  modern  nature  would  manifest  itself,  side  by  side 
with  relics  of  a  by-gone  age,  reminding  the  observer  that  although 
the  old  traditions  and  customs  were  not  altogether  discarded,  the 
fashionable  encroachments  of  this  presumably  enlightened  period 
were  gradually  gaining  a  foothold. 

Perhaps  the  change  in  popular  taste  and  education  was  nowhere 
more  conspicuous  than  in  the  burial  places  of  the  dead.  To  me, 
at  least,  it  appeared  very  significant.  We  no  longer  select  the 
most  desolate  spot  in  all  the  country  side  in  which  to  lay  the 
bodies  of  our  departed  friends ;  nor  do  we,  as  a  rule,  leave  these 
sacred  enclosures  in  a  state  of  perpetual  neglect.  Our  "  Mt. 
Hopes"  and  "Evergreens"  are  a  delight  to  the  eye  and  a  solace 
to  the  heart.  The  surroundings  harmonize  with  the  tender  mem- 
ories of  our  cherished  dead ;  we  leave  their  mortal  part  resignedly 
among  the  beautiful  flowers  and  trailing  vines,  the  thick  foliage, 
and  sparkling  waters,  which  combine  to  dispel  the  grewsomeness 
of  the  last  sleep  ordained  for  all  humanity. 

This  advance  in  refinement,  and  triumph  over  superstition,  is 
evident  also  in  the  character  of  the  stones  and  their  inscriptions 
now  in  vogue.  With  the  exception  of  an  occasional  showy  monu- 
ment, chasteness  of  design,  faith  in  a  loving  Creator,  and  an  ab- 
sence of  ostentation,  are  the  noticeable  characteristics  of  tomb- 
stones now-a-days.  Indeed,  to  such  an  extent  is  the  penchant  for 
simplicity  carried  that  a  century  hence  those  who  walk  amid  the 
graves  of  the  present  generation  will  find  little  to  attract  attention 

254  01.D  TIME  EPITAPHS. 

in  the  plain  white  stones  of  small  size  but  artistic  design  upoi> 
which  will  be  seen  only  the  simple  word  "  Mother, "  "  Hus- 
band,""  Mary, "  or  "John," — but  how  fraught  with  meaning! 
But  an  hundred  years  ago  an  epitaph  was  the  almost  unfailing 
accessory  of  a  tombstone,  however  humble,  and  its  perusal  at  the 
present  time  gives  some  insight  into  the  religious  beliefs  oftliat 
bygone  people. 

The  following  inscriptions  were  jotted  down  while  loitering  in 
the  mid-summer  sunshine  among  the  matted  grass  and  tangle  of 
briars  that  almost  concealed  rows  of  unadorned  graves  that  never 
knew  fostering  care.  The  slabs  of  slate  that  marked  them  were  in 
many  cases  so  covered  with  a  clinging  moss  that  nothing  could  be 
deciphered,  others  lay  prostrate  upon  the  ground,  and  others 
were  broken  and  disfigured  beyond  reparation.  Nothing  but  the 
awful  fact  of  death  was  present,  and  the  nature  of  many  of  the 
epitaphs  was  calculated  to  inspire  terror  among  the  living,  if  not 
reverence  for  the  occupants  of  the  graves  in  question,  who  though 
dead,  yet  speak.     For  instance,  this  under  date  of  1805  : 

Sur\'iving  friends,  behold  in  me 

The  emblem  cf  vour  vanity, 

Mj*  bed  it  is  a  lonesome  fjrave 

And  you  sucli  dwelling  place  will  have. 

And  this,  over  tlie  grave  of  an  eleven-year-old  girl,  who  died  in 

Ye  thoughtless  youths,  come  view  the  grave 
Where  you  must  shortly  lay: 
Your  ruby  lips  and  active  limbs 
Must  mingle  with  my  clay. 

The  next,  bearing  date  of  181 3,  appears  to  have  been  a  favor- 
ite composition  of  more  than  local  fame,  as  I  found  it,  with  slight 
variations,  on  a  number  of  stones  in  each  yard  visited : 

Behold,  my  friend,  as  you  pass  by. 
As  vou  are  now,  so  once  \vas  I; 
As  I  am  now  so  vou  must  be, — 
Prepare  for  death  and  follow  me. 

To  this  rather  self-complacent  verse  was  added  in  some 
instances  another: 


Wliilc  I  was  musing  on  my  end, 
In  health,  I  told  it  to  a  friend;— 
Lay  here  my  bones,  their  last  abode. 
To  wait  the  order  of  tlieir  God. 

The  above  was  found  on  five  or  six  stones  in  a  row  at  one 

One  stone  of  1796  pertinently  declares: 

Tlio,  not  till  ninety  some  retire, 
Yet  monuments  around  declare 
How  vast  the  number  who  expire. 

It  will  be  observed  that  whereas  the  occasional  epitaphs  of  the 
present  day  arc  invariably  in  the  third  person  —  eulogistic 
of  the  departed  one's  traits  of  character,  or  expressing  confidence 
in  a  blissful  eternity  for  the  same  —  the  old-time  inscriptions  are 
veritable  voices  from  the  tombs,  and  often  savor  strongly  of  a 
self-satisfaction  which  ill  comports  with  the  humility  of  true 
Christianity.  Doubtless  most  of  them  are  written  by  friends  of 
the  deceased,  but  the  effect  of  personality  is  produced. 

Here  is  one  of  1S16: 

My  friends,  farewell,  for  I  shall  dwell 

In  scenes  of  living  bliss; 
Then  I  shall  sec  as  I  am  seen 

And  dwell  where  Jesus  is. 

O,  will  you  rend  and  not  take  heed, 

But  on  your  way  pursue, 
My  God  dolli  know  jour  thoughts  also. 

And  has  a  place  for  you. 

And  the  following  bespeaks  unwavering  confidence  in  the  life 
beyond  the  gates : 

FarcAvcll,  my  dear  Brethren,  my  Lord  bids  me  come. 
Farewell,  my  Sisters,  I  am  now  going  home; 
Bright  angels  are  whispering  so  sweet  in  my  ear, 
Away  to  my  Saviour  my  spirit  to  bear. 

Less  blissful,  but  in  a  spirit  of  resignation,  is  tlie  following^ 
framed  in  1 800 : 

Great  God,  I  own  my  sentence  just 

Ti)at  yields  v^y  body  to  the  dust. 
Yet  by  grace  I  hope  to  rise, 

And  dwell  vvith  Christ  above  the  skies. 


Some  conjectures  regarding  that  mysterious  property  of  man^ 
the  soul  are  betokened  by  this  of  1801 : 

Swifl  flies  the  soul,  perhaps  'tis  gone 

A  thousand  leagues  beyond  the  sun, 
Or  twice  ten  thousand  more  twice  told 

Ere  the  forsaken  day  is  cold. 

In  1 76 1  some  worthy  body  left  this  testimonial: 

Dear  friends,  for  me  pray  do  not  weep, 
I  am  not  dead  but  here  do  sleep. 
Within  this  Solid  lump  of  clay 
Until  the  Resurrection  day, 
And  here  Inded  I  must  Remain 
Till  Christ  shall  Rais  me  up  again. 

A  man  killed  by  a  falling  tree,  in  1 798,  left  a  warning,  as 
follows : 

Watch  ye  that  live,  for  you  don't  know. 

How  near  you  are  to  death. 
Or  what  may  give  the  fatal  blow  ' 

To  stop  your  fleeting  breath. 

Another  victim  of  accidental  death  says, 

That  sovereign  God  who  set  my  bounds. 

Saw  fit  to  take  my  breath, 
Be  ready,  then,  each  hour  you  live 

To  meet  an  instant  death. 

A  good  rule  for  us  all  to  live  by,  if  it  can  be  done  without 
unduly  marring  the  inno/:ent  pleasures  of  everyday  existence 
through  a  morbid  sense  of  the  uncertainty  and  unimportance  of 
earthly  life. 

Here  is  a  literary  curiosity  of  1760: 

Shoon  as  the  silver  cord  was  loosed 

The  Golden  bool  did  break. 

This  youth  he  in  the  grave  must  sleep 

Till  Christ  shall  him  a-wake. 

The  Glorious  Sound  shall  rend  the  Sky, 

And  pears  the  darktom  Cave, 

This  youth  he  then  shall  hear  the  sound 

And  leave  tlie  rotting  grave. 

A  sublime  indifference  to  grammar  is  herein  displayed,  date  of 
1 801 : 

No  more,  my  friends,  don't  weep  for  me, 
Fm  gone  into  eternity! 
The  Avay  to  death  you  all  must  tread 
And  sleep  with  me  among  tlie  dead. 


This  is  another  inscription  that  has  many  duplicates  in  Nevir 
England  church-yards : 

Friends  and  physicians  could  not  save 

My  mortal  body  from  the  grave, 
Nor  can  yc  grave  confine  me  here 

When  Christ  shall  call  me  to  appear. 

The  oldest  one  in  my  collection  chronicles  a  death  in  1755.  At 
the  top  of  the  large  black  slab  was  the  hideous  skull  and  cross- 
bones  with  which  many  of  the  stones  were  bedecked,  surmounted 
by  the  words,  "  Memento  Mori."  Down  the  sides  was  arranged 
as  follows,  the  axiom : 

From  Age 

Death's  U 

arrest  Free 

In  the  centre  was  the  name,  age,  etc.,  of  the  deceased,  in 

The  same  burial-ground  —  in  a  "banner"  New  Hampshire 
town  —  contains  a  stone  of  which  I  heard  much  comment.     It 

"  Commemorates  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Joanna  Farley.  She 
was  a  woman  eminent  for  industry,  usefulness  and  piety.  Having 
lived  80  years  and  having  been  the  natural  parent  of  200  off- 
spring.    She  died  20th  Aug.,  1797." 

Below  is  this : 

Stay,  Passenger,  though  dead  I  speak, 

You  know  the  word  conveyed 
A  thousand  calls  like  this  youVe  heard, 

But  have  you  one  obcy'd  ? 

In  the  town  above  mentioned  there  lived  a  quaint  character 
named  Doctor  Jones,  whose  droll  sayings  are  still  repeated  by  the 
old  residents.  His  once  fine  mind  had  become  what  the  country 
people  called  "  cracked,"  and  his  memory  is  perpetuated  in  the 
old  burying  ground  back  of  the  church  by  this  aspiring  flight 
into  the  realms  of  poesy : 

In  youth  he  was  a  scholar  bright 
In  learning  he  took  great  delight, 
He  was  a  major's  only  son, 
It  was  for  love  he  was  undone. 

Close  by  is  the  following  ambiguous  stanza: 


Benjamin  Parker,  near  cightj-three* 
Respectable  j'ou  once  did  see, 
His  grandson  now  lies  over  him. 
We  all  must  feel  the  cfTcct  of  sin. 

As  late  as  1820  this  flowery  production  was  placed  above  tlic 
grave  of  a  girl  of  seventeen : 

In  faith  she  died,  in  dust  she  lies. 
But  faith  forsces  that  dust  shall  rise. 
When  Jesus  calls,  while  Hope  assumes 
And  boasts  her  joy  among  the  tombs* 

The  following  is  a  tribute  to  a  young  lady  who  departed  this 
life  in  182 1: 

Could  j'outh  evade  dcth*s  secret  hour 

Or  beauty  stem  his  tide. 
Or  virtue  charm  his  fatal  po%ver, 

Then  Rachel  had  not  died. 

In  1 83 1,  some  thoughtful  husband  comforted  his  widow  thus: 

My  partner  dear,  as  you  draw  near. 
Your  husband*s  grave  you  see, 
Not  long  ago  I  was  with  you. 
But  soon  you*ll  be  with  me. 

Tlie  most  elaborate  epitaph  of  all  I  discovered  on  an  immense 
piece  of  slate,  half  hidden  by  a  scraggly  rose-bush.  Beginning 
with  the  usual  "  Memento  mori,"  of  that  date — 1796 — and  adding, 
**Timc,  how  short!  eternity,  how  long!"  the  announcement 
was  made  that  here  lay  the  remains  of  an  **  amiable  consort," 
t\venty-five  years  of  age,  and  her  **  inocent  babe."  The  afflicted 
husband  evidently  wished  to  pay  the  greatest  possible  respect  to 
the  departed  one,  and  covered  the  stone  with  praises  that  surely 
would  have  caused  the  angelic  spirit  to  sing  for  joy  could  it  have 
been  permitted  to  behold  the  loving  words.  And  who  shall  say 
that  this  is  impossible  for  denizens  of  the  **  spirit  land?" 

Here  the  fair  j'outh,  who  ever  promise  gave. 
Sheds  her  sweet  blossoms  in  the  silent  grave. 
True,  mutual  love  had  softened  every  care 
When  mournful  death  divorced  the  happy  pair. 
Blest  with  mild  temper  and  of  soul  so  even. 
She  seemed  a  copy  of  the  saints  in  heaven. 
How  lov'd,  she  liv*d,  how  much  lamented  fell. 
None  but  her  husband's  sorrowing  heart  can  telL 
And  thou,  sweet  Babe,  too  innocent  for  Earth, 


Gave  HER  immortal  jo^'s  wlio  gave  Ihce  birth« 

Come,  ye  virgins  fair,  your  charms  survey, 

She  was  whatever  your  lender  hearts  could  say; 

Let  the  green  lurft  receive  your  trickling  tear. 

To  this  sad  place  your  earliest  garlands  bring 

And  deck  her  grave  wiih  firstlings  of  the  spring. 

Let  opening  roses,  ilrooping  lilies  tell, 

Like  ihose  her  virtues  blooniM,  alas!  like  these  she  fell. 

Round  her,  ye  graces,  constant  vigils  keep, 

And  guard,  fair  innocent,  her  sacred  sleep. 

Till  that  bright  morn  shall  \v;ike  the  virtuous  clay. 

To  bloom  and  triumph  in  eternal  day. 

But  I  thought  the  cHmax  in  curious  inscriptions  was  reached  by 
a  severely  plain  white  stone,  dated  1838,  among  rows  of  black 
slabs  of  all  sizes,  in  the  most  central — and  therefore  most  fre- 
quented— of  all  the  burial  grounds  in  a  thriving  New  Hampshire 
town.  On  reading  the  inscription  that,  in  large  letters,  covered 
every  spare  inch  of  space,  I  marvelled  that  some  vandal  had  not 
long  ago  destroyed  the  too  palpable  evidence  of  serious  church 
dissension  in  times  past.     Here  it  is : 

Here  lies  the  body  of  Caroline  IL,  wife  of  Calvin  Cutter,  M.D., 
at.  33.  LIurdcrcd  by  the  Baptist  ministry  and  Baptist  churches,  as 
follows : 

She  was  accused  of  Lying  in  Church  Meeting  by  the  Rev.  D.  D. 

Pratt  and  Done.  Albert  Adams — wns  condemned  by  the  Church  un- 
heard.    She  was  reduced  to  poverty  by  Dcac.  W'm.  Wallace.    When 

an  cxpartc  council  was  asked  of  the  Baptist  church,  by  the 

advice  of  their  cominittcc,  they  voted  not  to  receive  any  communication 
upon  the  subject.  The  Rev.  Mark  Carpenter  said  he  thought,  as  the 
good  old  Deac.  Pearson  said,  "  we  have  got  Cutter  down  and  it  is  best 
to  keep  him  down."  The  intentional  and  rnallcious  destruction  of  her 
character  and  happiness,  as  above  described,  destroyed  her  life.  Her 
last  words  upon  the  subject  were,  ''  tell  the  truth  and  the  iniquity  will 
come  out." 

Before  leaving  this  not  very  cheerful  subject,  I  would  like  to 
mention  a  phenomenon  that  I  witnessed  in  a  little  enclosure  at 
Bass  Harbor,  Mt.  Desert,  where  a  strong  vein  of  superstition  still 
exists  among  some  of  the  inhabitants.  While  at  Southwest  Har- 
bor, I  was  by  several  parties  urged  not  to  **go  away  without  seeing 
the  face  on  the  grave-stone;"  and,  after  listening  to  a  history  of 
the  strange  appearance,  was  filled  with  conjecture  as  to  how  much 
of  the  vision  was  attributable  to  imagination  and  how  much  to  in- 


disputable  fact.  So  one  beautiful,  breezy  day  an  excursion  was 
made  to  the  mooted  spot,  on  one  of  those  exhilarating  buckboards 
which  once  enjoyed  are  never  to  be  forgotten. 

Never  was  there  a  more  incredulous  mortal  than  the  writer,  for  there 
is  not  one  grain  of  superstition  in  her  nature,  nor  any  knowledge  of 
the  mysteries  accounted  for  by  spiritualism.  I  did  not  expect  veri- 
fication of  the  islanders'  reports — but  it  was  there  1  Even  my  short- 
sighted eyes  beheld  it  while  I  was  yet  quite  a  distance  from  the 
large  marble  slab.  Upon  it  was  plainly  seen  the  likeness  of  a  gray- 
haired  man,  with  long  flowing  beard,  and  eyes  upturned  in  suppli- 
cation and  a  clearly-marked  crown  upon  the  brow,  which — it  had 
been  asserted  to  me— would  appear  outlined  upon  the  stone. 

How  did  it  come  there  ?  What  made  it !  Questions  none  of  us 
could  answer, — though  we  were  sure  there  was  nothing  supernatu- 
ral about  it.  Still  it  could  not  be  the  work  of  human  hands.  We 
observed  a  discoloration  on  the  other  side  of  the  marble,  but  no- 
traces  of  a  physiognomy.  The  most  satisfactory  conclusion  of  the 
party  was  that  in  some  inexplicable  manner  the  action  of  wind  and 
weather  was  responsible  for  the  remarkable  appearance.  Turning; 
our  attention  to  the  companion  stone,  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the 
faithful  partner  of  this  materialized  man's  joys  and  sorrows,  who 
died  some  years  later,  we  were  still  further  astonished  to  perceive 
the  beginning  upon  that  of  a  similar  phenomenon.  One  side  of  a 
face  was  visible,  with  one  eye,  and  indications  of  a  growing  photo- 
graphic effect.  This  was  as  patent  to  one  of  us  as  to  another,  refuting; 
any  suspicion  among  skeptics  that  we  were  victims  of  an  illu- 
sion. A  resident  of  the  island  whose  veracity  is  as  unquestioned 
as  her  intelligence,  informed  us  that  singularly  enough  the  portrait 
was  afac-simile  of  the  man  who  was  buried  beneath  the  stone ;  that 
he  was  "  a  pillar  of  the  church,"  and  frequently  remarked  in  the 
prayer  meetings  that  he  had  borne  the  cross  in  his  earthly  pilgrim- 
age and  expected  to  wear  the  crown  in  the  hereafter.  The  natives 
at  the  time  of  our  visit  had  not  discovered  the  second  portrait  I 
often  wonder  if  it  has  become  more  complete,  and  what  would  be 
the  scientific  explanation  of  the  curiosity. 




"Painting,"  said  Simonides,  the  Greek  Voltaire,  "is  dumb  poe- 
try." To  say  of  sculpture  that  it  is  "  poetry  turned  to  stone,"  and  of 
architecture  that  it  is  the  poetry  of  harmonious  lines  yearning 
upward  toward  the  sky  through  lifted  spire  and  dome  and  archi- 
trave, would  be  equally  true,  and,  when  taken  broadly,  'equally 
deceptive ;  for  neither  painting  nor  sculpture  nor  architecture  is- 
in  itself  poetry  in  any  other  sense  than  that  in  which  all  language"* 
is  poetry, —  being,  like  language,  simply  a  medium  of  expression. 

But  we  will  not  quarrel  with  our  text.  If  Simonides  had  told-' 
the  whole  truth  as  regards  either  poetry  or  painting,  he  would-- 
have  written  a  folio  and  spoiled  an  epigram.  It  serves  the  pur- 
pose of  a  text  in  suggesting  a  few  thoughts  concerning  the  poets* 
whose  visions  were  revealed  through  form,  and  the  poems  tUatt 
have  been  painted  instead  of  sung.  Between  the  poets  and  the? 
prose  masters  of  painting  there  exists  a  distinction  as  broad  as 
that  between  the  poet  and  the  essayist  of  literature.  If  Tenny- 
son had  used  a  palette  and  brush  instead  of  a  pen,  he  would  have 
painted  the  self-same  tender  Idylls  of  the  King.  A  Gerard  Dow,  if 
he  had  turned  his  attention  to  literature,  would  have  occupied 
himself  with  statistics,  mainly  of  brooms.  A  Claude  would  have 
written  pastorals,  and  Orcagna  would  have  thundered  sermons. 

Poetry  is  self-existent,  and  independent  of  material  or  fornp. 
Whether  using  the  language  of  verse,  or  speaking  in  more  sen- 
suous fashion  through  the  inarticulate  speech  of  painted  canvas 
and  chiselled  marble,  it  remains  essentially  the  same.  Revealing 
itself  through  the  sweeping  outlines  of  the  hills,  and  in  the  colors 
with  which  God  has  painted  the  earth  for  our  delight  and  the 
heavens  for  our  deeper  joy  and  inspiration,  it  is  —  whether  in 
nature  or  in  art — what  the  soul  is  to  the  body.  It  is  the  spirit 
that  makes  alive.  To  the  poet  it  is  the  essence  of  all  life,  the 
attar  of  an  inward  experience  and  vision. 

Among  the  ancients,  prose  and  poetry  arc  represented  by 
nations  rather    than   by  individuals, —  the  Greeks  embodying  the 


poetry,  the  Etruscans  the  prose  element,  both  in  art  and  life. 
To  the  Greek,  beauty  was  both  inspiration  and  reward.  It  meant, 
not  only  physical  happiness,  health  and  harmony,  but  immortality 
as  well.  The  Theseus  of  antiquity  is  a  fellow-being  far  on  his 
4vay  toward?  divinity.  But  beauty  was  divine  onl)'  because  it  rep- 
resented  one  form  of  perfectness, — and  the  aspirations  of  the  Greeks 
reached  out  in  every  direction  for  the  most  perfect  thing  possible 
rundcr  the  heavens. 

Greek  art  attempted  to  deify  and  idealize  the  human ;  mediaeval 
^nd  modern  Christian  art  to  humanize  and  realize  the  divine.  For 
the  Greeks,  life  itself  was  divine,  existence  a  living  poem ;  and  so 
it  came  to  pass  that  Homer  sang  of  heroes  and  heroic,  but  quite 
liuman,  gods,  while  Phidias  and  Praxiteles  wrought  in  "  marble 
colored  like  a  morning  cloud  "  the  heroic  forms  inspired  by  Greek 
life  and  aspiration.  The  Etruscans,  on  the  contrary,  endeavored 
only  to  reproduce  with  undiscriminating  impartiality,  as  to  beautv 
and  nobility  or  ugliness  of  form,  whatever  nature  offered  to 
view.  The  Greek  was  an  artist  and  a  poet ;  the  Etruscan  a  photo- 
grapher and  a  man  of  affairs.  The  art  of  the  one  has  the  power 
and  repose  of  the  ideal ;  that  of  the  other  has  the  force,  the  hon- 
esty and  vitality  of  all  true  reah'sm. 

"Why  should  I  paint  you?'*  said  a  Greek  painter  to  a  mis- 
shapen man  ;  **  no  one  wishes  to  look  at  you." 

An  Etruscan  would  have  said,  "The  man  is  one  of  Nature's 
facts ;  let  us  record  him  with  the  •-•est." 

So  the  Etruscans  wrought,  on  tomb  and  on  statue,  the  history 
of  their  daily  lives,  while  the  Greeks  painted  and  chiselled  poems 
which  "gently  creep  into  our  study  of  imagination,"  and  teach  us 
still  something  of  their  high  art  of  dreaming.  Greek  life  was 
manly,  many-sided,  artistic ;  the  Etruscan,  narrow,  intense  and 
;prosaic, — the  vigorous  realism  of  its  art  degenerating  at  length  into 
•the  gross  and  common-place,  and  sinking  finally  into  the  un- 
.natural  stiffness  of  Byzantine  art. 

;Whcn  Byzantine  art  was  born»  a  new  element  had  crept  in.  In 
'Greece,  Christianity  had  become  a  fact  and  a  force,  routing  the 
happy  old  gods  and  sending  them  into  the  fastnesses  of  the  hills. 
The  feeling',  noble  in  its  essence,  which  dignified  pain  and  sorrow, 
became  in  its  perversion  ignoble  and  abnormal.  Denying  the  old 
<jreek  theory  tliat  man  should  find  delight  in  a  noble  and  virtuous 


life,  it  renounced  all  hopes  and  expectations  of  joy,  and  believed 
that  if  a  man  suffered  in  doing  dght  he  became,  by  that  measure 
of  suffering,  the  more  virtuous.  As  a  result  of  this  spirit  of  morti- 
fication, there  came  into  existence  a  long  line  of  pallid  saints  and 
madonnas,  effigies  of  womanhood,  whose  only  glory  is  in  the 
golden  phylacteries  of  ttieir  garments. 

Christian  art,  according  to  Ruskin,  may  be  divided  into  two 
great  masses.  These  masses,  he  calls  symbolic  and  imitative;  the 
symbolic  reaching  from  the  earliest  ages  to  the  close  of  the  14th 
century,  the  imitative,  from  that  period  until  the  present  time. 
This  division,  although  convenient,  takes  note  only  of  the  manner 
and  not  at  all  of  the  essential  character  of  the  art  which  expressed 
itself  in  these  tVo  different  forms.  Early  Christian  art  occupied 
itself  with  theologica;l  subjects  aione  and  was  the  outgrowth  of 
theological  thought;  it  was  therefore  symbolic;  for  the  truths 
they  tried  to  represent  could  be  portrayed  only  through  symbols. 
The  art  of  what  is  popularly  called  the  Renaissance  was  poetic 
or  sensitive  art,  both  imitative  and  ideal ;  while  the  art  of  later 
times  has  been  for  the  greater  part  imitative  merely,  and  therefore 

The  painters  of  the  first  thirteen  centuries  were  teachers  rather 
than  poets.  It  was  their  mission  to  illustrate  certain  accepted 
facts  of  Christianity,  —  as  that  Christ  was  a  prophet,  priest  or  king, 
—  to  convey  through  the  medium  of  painted  canvas  certain  theo- 
logical ideas. 

**VVhen  an  artist  prefers  ideas  to  sensations"  says  a  recent 
French  critic,  "  he  falls  inevitably  into  allegory.  Art  becomes  a 
mass  of  symbols,  hieroglyphics,  even  mystifications."  This  is 
what  happened  to  the  art  of  mediaeval  Christianity.  Searching,  if  so 
they  might  find  out  Him  whose  name  is  written  in  living  charac- 
ters of  light,  these  early  painters  made  of  their  pictures,  treatises 
and  sermons  rather  than  poems ;  groping  after  the  invisible  and 
unattainable  instead  of  apprehending  with  passionate  delight  the 
knowledge  and  beauty  written  upon  the  lifted  hills  and  in  the 
creeping  valley  grass;  failing  to  recognize  through  His  countless 
revelations  the  one  ineffable  artist  of  whom  the  whole  green  world 
and  blue  dome  of  sky  is  one  vast  sign  and  symbol. 

Not  until  the  time  of  Giotto,  the  poet-painter  of  Assisi,  do  we 
discover  a  new  influence  and  spirit.      In  Giotto  art  again  becomes 


human,  —  human  enough  to  touch  us,  as  well  as  divine  enough  to 
lift  us  through  the  human  to  that  which  is  infinitely  aboveit.  As 
painter,  poet  and  architect,  he  won  the  love  and  reverent  worship 
of  Florentine  noble  and  peasant,  reaching  out  too,  through  the 
dim  ages  to  speak  to  us  in  subtle  rhyme  and  rhythm  of  colored 
fresco  and  in  the  lifted  spire  of  the  Campanile,  —  "a  poem 
wrought  in  marble." 

Forty-five  and  fifty  years  after  the  death  of  Giotto,  there  were 
born  in  Florence,  two  men  whose  destiny  it  was  to  introduce  into 
sculpture  the  same  influence  and  impulse  which  Giotto  had  already 
exercised  in  painting.  The  names  of  these  two  were  Lorenzo 
Ghiberti  and  Donatello,  representatives  of  a  class  of  artists  who 
might  be  called  pictorial  sculptors 

Ghiberti  was,  in  fact,  a  painter  in  bronze, — aiming  to  unite  to  the 
solidity  of  bas-relief  the  perspective  of  painting  It  was  because 
Ghiherti  looked  not  only  at,  but  through  nature  to  her  methods,  that 
he  discovered  her  secrets ;  while  Donatello  (called  somewhat  un- 
justly, the  pagan  sculptor — from  his  love  of  the  antique)  strove  to 
learn  her  mysteries  from  the  ancients.  But  the  antique  was  to  him 
not  so  much  a  model  as  a  glass  through  which  he  looked  to  see 
what  manner  of  men  they  were  who  had  acquired  such  power  of 
thought  and  such  perfection  of  skill.  He  was  pagan  only  as 
nature  is  pagan ;  in  art  and  in  life  he  was  Chiistian. 

This  fifteenth  centur>'  of  Ghiberti  and  Donatello  was  the  mid- 
summer of  poetic  art  in  Italy  England  too,  had  burst  into  sud- 
den bloom  and  blossom  c!  artistic  activity,  but  among  the  colder 
and  less  sensuous  people  of  the  Ncrth  art  was  dramatic  and  in- 
tellectual ;  in  the  South  it  was  pictorial  oi  plastic,  appealing  ta 
man's  delight  in  form  and  color  as  well  as  in  action  and  idea. 

There  is  not  only  the  parallelism  of  time  in  the  development 
of  the  artistic  instinct  in  these  two  peoples,  but  a  likeness,  fanciful 
perhaps,  but  not  wholly  unwarranted  between  the  poet-painters  of 
Italy  and  the  lyric  and  dramatic  poets  of  England  in  the  fifteenth 
and  sixteenth  centuries.  Angelico.  the  George  Herbert  of  re- 
ligious thought,  painted  quaintly  bca*jtiful  hymns  instead  of  singing 
them.  Mantegna,  a  man  of  intellect  and  extraordinary  skill, 
rather  than  feeling,  is  not  unlike  Ben  Johnson,  with  his  immense 
abilitv.  his  learninc:  and  his  love  of  the  classic. 

Botticelli   and    Ghirlandajo   are  a   Beaumont   and   Fletcher  of 


•most  exquisite  beauty ;  and  Signorelli,  a  very  Webster  in  dramatic 
'energy  and  intensity.  But  the  comparison,  like  all  comparisons, 
runs  at  length  into  differences  instead  of  likenesses.  In  the  year 
1483,  Raphael  was  born, — the  man  whom  Schlegel  calls  the 
Shakespeare  of  painting.  Raphael's  genius,  like  Shakespeare's, 
was  both  lyric  arid  dramatic ;  and  it  would  be  interesting  to  trace 
the  development  of  the  many-sided  natures  of  these  two  great 
masters,  from  the  Venus  and  Adonis  of  Shakespeare  and  the 
softly  smiling  Madonnas  of  Raphael's  earlier  period,  to  the  trage- 
dies of  the  one  and  the  violent  dramatic  action  displayed  in  the 
later  works  of  the  other. 

In  the  year  1506  Raphael  went  to  Florence.  Michael  Angelo 
liad  just  completed  his  design  of  **  Soldiers  Bathing  in  the  Arno"; 
and  the  year  before,  Leonardo  da  Vinci  had  finished  his  famous 
cartoon.  These  works  had  an  immense  influence  upon  the  devel- 
opment of  his  genius.  During  Raphael's  life  in  Rome,  where  he 
was  more  immediately  under  the  influence  of  Michael  Angelo,  he 
abandoned  what  might  be  called  lyric  painting  and  became  a 
dramatist.  Action  as  well  as  beauty  became  a  dominant  and  con- 
trolling influence. 

After  Shakespeare  and  Raphael  came  Milton  and  Michael 
Angelo,  the  English  and  Italian  masters  of  the  epic ;  for,  although 
Michael  Angelo  was  born  before  Raphael  much  of  his  most  sig- 
nificant work  was  performed  after  the  death  of  his  rival.  His  life 
and  work  form  an  epoch  in  the  history  of  art.  Pindemonte  calls  / 
him  the  man  of  four  souls;  and  in  none  of  the  manifestations  of 
this  four-fold  genius  does  he  appear  greater  or  more  inexplicable 
than  in  sculpture.  Whether  his  marbles  slumber  like  the  Night, 
or  turn  their  faces  toward  us  in  shadowy  indistmctness,  like  the 
Day,  \vc  feel  in  them  a  power  like  the  power  of  untamed  Nature. 
We  seem  to  be  standing  in  the  presence-chamber  of  a  gieat  and, 
at  times,  a  baffle-l  intellect.  The  vagueness  and  incompleteness  of 
his  works  touch  us  like  the  hush  of  a  mysterious  silence.  It  is  as 
if  the  vastness  of  the  vision  had  made  the  poet  dumb,  as  if  the 
grandeur  of  the  thought  had  stilled  the  heart  and  the  hand. 

Of  the  Venetian  painters,  with  all  the  wonderful  glow  of  light 
and  color,  in  which  their  sympathetic,  world-loving  natures 
revelled,  it  is  impossible  to  speak  at  length.  Yet  they  too,  were 
;poets.     Whatever  the  thought,—  tender  or  strong;  worshipful  or 


passionate, — Titian,  Tintoretto  and  the  rest  always  sung  it,  so  far 
as  harmonious  and  splendid  color  can  sing ;  making  of  their  pic- 
tures, poems  both  lyric  and  dramatic,  and  painting  for  the  world 
of  Venice  its  captivating  vers  de  societe. 

In  illustrating  thus  imperfectly  the  poetic  side  of  painting,  we 
have  attempted  only  a  broad  and  general  classification  which 
naturally  divides  itself  into  the  religious,  the  lyric,  the  dramatic, 
and  the  epic. 

To  the  faith  and  hope  in  the  future  we  leave  the  fulfilment  of 
the  prophecies  of  the  past ;  for  that  art  alone  is  supremely  great 
which  recognizes    *  the  divinity  that  shapes  our  lives,*  and  per- 
ceives likewise  the  divine  clement  in  life  which  makes  possible  a 
reverent  apprehension  of  all  that  is  above,  below  and  around  us. 



Love  likes  not  laucjhtcr  all  the  day, 
Nor  woukl  one  like  the  year  all  May ; 
For  pensive  looks  oft  Love  doth  crave, 
And  likes  his  mistress  sometimes  grave ; 
And  though  it  dim  a  lovely  eye. 
He  chides  her  not  if  she  do  cry. 
Love  likes  to  soothe  a  trembling  maid 
Until  her  sobs  jlncl  tears  arc  st:iicl ; 
For  then  he  tlnnks  she's  not  all  art, 
Bi;t  hidden  keeps  a  gentle  heart. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  IT.  267 



**  As  unto  the  bow  the  cord  is, 
So  unto  the  man  is  woman  : 
Though  she  bends  him,  she  obeys  him, 
Though  she  draws  him,  jet  she  follows, 
Useless  each  without  the  other." 

Did  Longfellow  ever  hear  the  old  saying,  **he  has  two  strings  to- 
his  bow  "  applied  to  a  young  man  who  was  trifling  with  two  girls 
at  once?  And  did  that  same  old  saying  suggest  to  him  the  splen- 
did lines  with  which  he  begins  the  story  of  Hiawatha's  wooing? 
Or  did  the  tales  of  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  men,  who,  with 
their  long  bows  and  arrows,  shot  down  the  King's  deer  in  Sher- 
wood forest,  put  him  on  track  of  the  beautiful  comparison  in 
verse  wherein  he  tells  us  that  man  and  woman  are  just  such 
counterparts  as  bow  and  bowstring?  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  cord 
works  in  one  way,  the  bow  in  another ;  and  it  is  only  by  their 
united  opposition,  to  speak  paradoxically,  that  the  feathered  arrow- 
is  ever  sent  whizzing  through  the  air.  It  takes  a  man  and  it  takes 
a  woman  to  make  a  home,  as  surely  as  it  takes  two  persons  to 
make  a  quarrel.  But  in  a  home,  made  by  two  congenial  spirits^ 
you  shall  often  see  things  done  in  such  a  peculiar,  unexpected^ 
original  and  saint-like  way,  by  the  cord  side  of  the  copartnership,, 
that  you  can  only  account  for  what  you  see  by  saying  '* That's  the 
woman  of  it." 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  October.  The 
day  had  been  one  of  those  bright,  clear  ones  that  set  the 
squirrels  in  the  woods  to  dancing  and  frisking,  and  the  ladies  iii: 
town  calling  on  all  their  friends.  As  you  pass  along  the  streets 
about  8  o'clock  in  the  evening,  glance  in  through  the  window  of  a 
certain  house  in  a  certain  town  that  shall  be  nameless.  You  will 
see  —  or  might  have  seen,  on  the  night  referred  to  —  a  man  sitting 
all  alone.  Like  Alexander  Selkirk,  he  was  **  monarch  of  all  he 
surveyed."  But  he  was  monarch  only  a  part  of  the  time,  for  he 
was  a  married  man.  On  that  particular  occasion  his  wife  had 
gone  out  to  spend  the  evening.     She  had  not  gone  alone,  though 

268  THE  WOMAN  OF  IT. 

she  had  left  him  alone.  With  her  there  was  the  quaintest,  best, 
brightest  and  most  nearly  perfect  specimen  of  the  Yankee  school- 
mistress that  ever  **  boarded  round  "  before  that  abominable 
system  was  superseded  by  the  modern  improvement,  which  admits 
an  educational  force  into  a  family  as  a  boarder  for  less  than  the 
usual  rates,  for  the  sake  of  her  excellent  company. 

All  alone  that  man  his  *  lonely  watch  was  keeping ; '  but  he 
ought  not  to  have  been  very  lonely,  for  he  was  sitting  right  before 
an  open  fire-place.  It  was  a  new  altar  to  the  god  of  fire ;  for  ah 
open  fire  was  the  one  thing  that  two  hearts  had  been  set  on  having 
for  some  time,  and  it  had  all  the  charms  of  a  new  acquisition.  As 
I  he  Hames  danced  and  rose  and  fell,  the  solitaire  looked  from  time  to 
time  from  the  book  he  was  reading  to  the  bright  fire,  as  if  he 
found  it  hard  to  decide  which  should  receive  the  honor  of  his 
attention.  There  was  a  lamp  on  the  centre  table,  and  an 
unlighted  hanging  lamp  over  it.  Soon  he  settled  down  to  the 
book,  as  a  bee  settles  upon  a  clover  blossom,  intent  to  gather  all 
its  honey, —  or  —  to  quote  the  terse  but  somewhat  rural  compari- 
son of  the  schoolmistress  —  "like  a  chicken  on  a  crumb."  It 
must  have  been  a  very  interesting  book,  for  in  a  short  time  he 
was  completely  absorbed  in  its  pages. 

That  man  was  capable  of  meeting  the  emergencies  of  life' in  a 
very  creditable  manner.  He  had  any  amount  of  moral  courage, 
and  could  unflinchingly  champion  an  unpopular  cause  if  he 
believed  with  his  whole  soul  that  it  was  right  If  the  good  name 
of  a  friend  was  assailed,  he  was  always  ready  to  put  lance  in  rest 
and  defend  it.  Had  a  burglar  put  in  an  appearance  in  the  dead- 
est hour  of  the  night,  he  would  have  quietly  drawn  a  revolver 
irom  under  his  pillow  and  shot  at  the  rascal  with  entire  self-pos- 
session. His  presence  of  mind  in  the  midst  of  nocturnal  alarms 
was  wonderful,  and  it  was  once  severely  tested.  He  entered  his 
bed  room  one  night  without  a  light,  and  as  a  muff  supported  by 
four  velvet  paws  leaped  from  the  bed,'  he  illustrated  the  meaning 
of  Longfellow's  famous  line,  "  Useless  each  without  the  other/' 
by  very  emphatically  exclaiming, 

'*Katc!  Kate!  there's  a  big  cat  in  our  room  !  What  shall  wt 

And  yet  if  called  on  at  a  moment's  notice  by  anything  human 
for  an  off-hand  speech,  he  always  rose  to  the  occasion  and  said 

THE  WOMAN  OF  IT.  269 

his  say  without  boring  the  audience  or  making  himself  ridiculous 
hy  uttering  fifth-class  witticisms  that  had  been  repeated  a  hundred 
times  before  by  other  men. 

Just  as  he  was  in  the  midst  of  a  most  interesting  chapter  there 
<:amc  a  quick  snap,  followed  by  the  downfall  of  a  lamp  chimney, 
and  an  immediate  out-pouring  of  smoke.  Now  the  breakage  of 
chimneys  in  that  family  the  preceding  winter  had  been  unprece- 
dented. A  new  chimney  seemed  like  a  lover's  promise,  made 
only  to  be  broken.  At  last  a  new  style  of  chimney  came  into 
market.     They  were  called  the  non-breakables.     Pleasing  name  ! 

"  But  wo'nt  they  break?  " 

"  Let  me  show  you,  **  said  the  smiling  deceiver  behind  the 

And  then  he  took  one  and  threw  it  half  across  the  room.  It 
fell  on  the  bare  floor  with  a  ringing  whack,  and  then  rolled  under 
the  stove,  unbroken. 

**  You  could  use  that  chimney  to  play  base  ball  with,"  said  the 

"  It  is  naught;  it  is  naught,"  saith  Solomon's  buyer,  "  but  when 
he  goeth  his  way  he  boasteth,"  —  probably  over  his  wonderful 

This  time  the  seller  did  the  boasting  and  the  buyer  believed. 

He  took  the  **  non-breakable"  home.  The  next  morning  he  com- 
plained of  his  wife's  carelessness  in  leaving  needles  and  pins  on  the 
floor  for  him  to  step  on  with  his  bare  feet.  Poor  man  !  he  had  not 
yet  learned  to  distinguish  a  needle  from  a  bit  of  broken  glass. 
Had  Hamlet  boarded  in  his  family  instead  of  the  pretty  school- 
mistress, he  would  have  said,  **  Frailty,  thy  name  is  lamp  chimney." 
He  never  would  have  made  frailty  the  characteristic  of  woman. 

**  Mistress  of  herself,  though  China  fall,"  is  a  proverb  that 
applies  to  the  perfectly  self-possessed  woman;  for  there  are 
women  who  are  perfectly  self-possessed  and  delightfully  amiable 
under  all  the  little  annoyances  that  sometimes  bristle  upon  the 
duties  of  a  day,  *' like  quills  upon  the  fretful  porcupine."  But 
when  such  things  happen  to  a  man,  even  to  a  good  man,  he  is  not 
the  fretful  porcupine,  but  the  fretful  man ;  and  the  porcupine 
would  be  the  more  agreeable  companion  of  the  two.  It  did  not 
occur  to  our  friend  that  his  long  coveted  fireplace,  in  all  the  glory 
of  maple  wood    in    full  blaze,  really  showed    off"  to  'better  ad- 

270  THE  WOMAN  OF  IT, 

vantage  without  the  rival  of  a  brighter  light.  Neither  did 
he  call  to  mind  the  great  men  who  have  laid  the  foundation 
of  their  greatness  in  the  chimney-corner,  courting  science  by 
the  blaze  of  pine  knots, — while  some  country  bumpkin  was 
courting  their  elder  sister  in  the  front  room  by  the  light  of  a  tal- 
low dip.  Our  friend  was  irritated  just  a  little, — yes,  just  a  good 
deal ;  and  as  he  was  alone — and  so  had  no  quick-witted  wife  to 
suggest  what  a  man  cannot  see  when  it  is  right  before  his  eyes  — 
he  did  not  at  first  know  what  to  do.  Previous  breakages  coming 
thick  and  fast  had  robbed  nearly  all  the  lamps  in  the  house  of 
their  crystal  crowns. 

But  over  the  table  there  was  a  hanging  lamp  with  a  large  porce- 
lain shade.  That  lamp  could  be  taken  out  and  placed  upon  the 
table.  Wonderful  discovery !  Brilliant  idea,  to  be  originated  by 
a  man  at  his  own  fireside.  Yes,  there  was  hope  now.  Be  it 
remembered  that  when  that  lamp  was  in  the  socket  it  just  balanced 
a  heavy  weight  that  ran  on  pulleys  and  chains.  Poor  man  !  how 
little  he  thought  of  the  law  of  balances  as  he  took  the  lamp  out 
and  stupidly  let  go  his  hold  of  the  frame.  Of  course  it  went  up 
like  a  balloon,  and  then  there  came  a  grand  crash,  taking  a  large 
piece  right  out  of  the  porcelain  shade. 

*' Confound  it!"  exclaimed  he,  **the  very  d 1  is  to  pay  to- 
night !  What  will  she  say?  And  that  irrepressible  school  ma'am 
— what  will  she  say?  Very  likely  she  will  want  to  air  her  Latin, 
and  will  trot  out  Virgil's  horrcntibus  nmbris,  and  then  ask  if  I  ever 
saw  the  solemn  shades,  or  the  horrid  shades,  or  something  else 
that  will  be  aggravating." 

There  was  another  drop  of  poison  in  the  cup  that  poor  fellow 
had  to  drink.  Only  a  few  weeks  before,  his  good  wife  had  allowed 
the  same  upward  tendency  in  the  balancing  power  of  that  lamp  to 
display  itself  to  the  utter  ruin  of  a  magnificent  porcelain  shade, 
and  he well,  he  did  not  scold ;  he  never  does ;  but  he  won- 
dered—  aloud  —  how  she  could  have  done  it.     Now  he  knew. 

But  what  does  he  hear?  There  is  the  rattle  of  a  key  in  the 
night  lock,  and  his  wife  and  the  pretty  schoolma'am  have  re- 
turned.    A  beautiful  state  of  mind  he  is  in  to  receive  them. 

**  Why,  my  dear!  what  is  the  matter?*'  asked  his  wife,  as  she 
entered  the  room  fresh  and  radiant  after  a  pleasant  evening  with 
the  history  class. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  IT,  271 

"Matter?  why,  matter  enough  to  make  a  saint  use  profane 
language.  What  an  infernal  swindle  these  lamp  chimneys  are ! 
You  can't  even  look  coldly  on  one  without  smashing  it  into  a 
thousand  pieces." 

"  Don't  fret  your  poor  soul,  my  good  husband,  over  so  small  a 
matter.  ** 

**  But  confound  it !  that  is'nt  all.  Look  at  that  porcelain  shade, 
will  you  ?  " 

The  schoolma'am  took  the  situation  in,  and  gave,  first,  a  look 
at  the  broken  shade  and  then  a  prolonged  whistle,  —  for  whistling 
in  every  variety  of  pucker  is  one  of  her  accomplishments.  Her 
whistle  was  so  peculiarly  significant,  as  she  kept  looking  up,  that 
his  lordship  asked  her  what  in  the  world  she  meant. 

"Oh,  nothing,  nothing  at  all,"  said  she,  as  innocently  as  if  she 
had  been  one  of  the  innocents  who  went  abroad  with  Mark  Twain. 
"Only,"  continued  she,  "I  thought  I  would  whistle  *  Down  Brakes' 
before  we  have  another  smash  up  that  will  send  us  all  to  the 

The  malicious  ingenuity  of  that  far-fetched  remark  had  the 
effect  of  a  counter-irritant.  His  lordship  thought  she  had  made  a 
worse  mess  than  he  had,  and  became  civil. 

"How  did  I  do  it?"  said  he. 

"Oh,  after  the  chimney  fell  from  grace,  I  went  to  takedown  the 
lamp  that  hangs  over  the  table;  but,  like  a  fool,  I  forgot  to  hold 
on,  and  so  of  course  it  went  up  about  as  you  went  down  the  first 
and  the  last  time  you  ever  tried  to  skate.  I  do  declare,"  said 
Bruin,  "the  makers  of  such  detestable  chimneys  ought  to  live  in 
glass  houses  as  brittle  as  their  own  wares,  and  I'd  like  to  be  the 
one  to  cast  the  first  stone  at  them.     It  would  be  no  sin  to  do  it." 

Isn't  it  strange  how  a  man,  one  of  the  lords  of  creation,  can  rave 
and  tear  his  hair  over  what  one  of  the  ladies  of  creation  can  remedy 
before  he  has  had  time  to  cool  off? 

Behold  the  man  of  it  and  the  woman  of  it !  For  while  the  Bear 
was  growling,  the  baroness  had  applied  to  the  broken  piece  some 
kind  of  a  **stickum-together  compound,"  bought  of  a  wandering 
retailer,  God  bless  him  !  for  the  small  sum  of  ten  cents.  That 
broken  piece  had  narrowly  escaped  the  fate  of  Shadrach,  Mesch- 
ech  and  Abednego, —  it  is  a  great  wonder  that  the  Bear  did  not 
pitch  it  into  the  fire.     In  less  time  than  it  has  taken  to  record  the 

1l^2  THE  WOMAN  OF  IT. 

breakage  the  shade  was  as  good  as  ever, — not  a  bit  worse  cracked 
than  you  would  have  considered  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  five  min- 
utes before  the  mending  was  accomplished. 

The  next  day  the  porcelain  shade  was  adorned  with  a  band  of 
gilt  paper  that  completely  covered  the  crack,  and  was  a  positive 
addition  to  the  beauty  of  the  hanging  lamp.  It  was  not  Aladin's 
lamp,  and  it  revealed  no  enchanted  cave,  with  trees  bearing  fruits 
that  were  diamonds  and  rubies,  but  it  did  bring  to  light  the  gem  of 
a  woman's  character,  viz.,  tact  and  patience,  where  a  man  would 
think  he  did  well  if  he  kept  from  swearing. 

The  pretty  schoolma'am  with  deflected  eyes  is  reappointed  every 
year,  for  no  board  of  trustees  would  venture  to  drop  her  from  the 
faculty.  It  is  quite  amusing  to  see  how  she  always  agrees  with  the 
opinions  of  her  ladyship  who  mended  the  lamp  shade  so  deftly. 
She  takes  her  part  in  all  matters  wherein  the  good  lady  differs  from 
her  husband,  and  woe  be  to  any  other  individual  who  dares  insinu- 
ate aught  against  her.  She  believes  in  her  absolute  perfection  as 
completely  as  the  Englishman  believes  the  old  common  law 
doctrine  that  "  the  king  can  do  no  wrong." 

The  schoolmistress  is  more  and  more  disposed  to  ask  round- 
about questions  concerning  the  ways  of  men,  and  how  to  manage 
them.  She  stubbornly  refuses  to  tell  who  gave  her  the  ring  she 
wears  on  her  forefinger,  but  is  sure  that  if  Iter  lamp  chimney  ever 
breaks  in  her  house  she  shall  know  just  how  to  treat  the  case. 
Whenever  some  new  triumph  of  patience  or  of  womanly  tact  is 
brought  out  in  the  home  circle  where  lamp  chimneys  even  now 
sometimes  crack  and  fall  to  pieces,  she  says  to  the  little  woman  at 
the  head  of  the  household, 

"  How  in  the  world  do  you  accomplish  all  these  results  and 
never  get  out  of  joint  with  things  generally?" 

The  invariable  answer  might  be,  "That's  the  woman  of  it." 

The  pretty  schoolma'am  is  making  a  desperate  effort  just  now  to 
commit  to  memory  the  names  and  wonderful  sayings  of  the  seven 
wise  men  of  Greece,  to  be  recited  at  the  next  meeting  of  the  history 
class.  That  of  Bias  was,  "Most  men  are  bad."  She  claims  that 
the  reason  is  this :   the  pattern  of  most  men  is  cut  on  a  bias. 

May  she  yet  find  a  full  pattern  of  perfect  manhood  and  believe 
in  it,  and  never  be  deceived  thereby. 




Mcthinks  yoii  have  come  rather  late,  Sir, 

Tlic  banquet  is  over.     Begin 
And  knock,  if  you  choose,  at  the  gate.  Sir, — 

I  fear  thc^  will  not  ask  you  iii. 

Listen  !  the  music  is  ended, 

Tlie  lamps  in  the  chambers  dead  ; 

Witli  silence  the  voices  have  blended, 
The  King  and  his  guests  are  abed. 

You  micrht  have  come  hither  from  Gades 
(Permit  mc  to  add)  in  the  West, 

Since  the  lords  said  good-niglit  and  the  ladies 
Went  smiling  away  to  their  rest. 

The  watchers  and  wards  of  the  towers 
Are  asleep  at  their  posts,  or  away  — 

Not  heard  there  at  least  for  some  hours  — 
O,  the  soundest  of  sleepers  are  they  ! 

But  try  if  you  will.     That  is  splendid  ! 

Knock  again  —  what?  dig  through  the  wall? 
'Tis  time  our  acquaintance  had  ended  — 

Not  a  guest,  but  a  thief,  after  all ! 

Ay,  a  bold  one  !  with  rattle  and  clatter. 
You  strike  for  the  palace  and  take 

What  pleases  your  fancy.  No  matter. 
The  owners  seem  not  to  awake. 

And  perhaps  you  are  right.     'Tis  a  pity 
That  treasures  should  stay  here  so  long 

Unused  in  their  sleepy  old  city, — 
Perhaps  you  are  doing  no  wrong. 

Yes,  come,  see,  and  conquer,  you  Cassar, 

Then  carry  your  booty  away  ; 
I  warrant  you,  Tiglath-Pilezer 

Could  give  you  the  odds  in  his  day 


As  a  thief!     Why,  the  arch  you  are  under 
Very  likely  was  built — if  you  choose 

To  remember  his  failings — of  plunder 
He  took  from  his  neighbors,  the  Jews. 

His  treatment  of  them  was  as  shabby 
As  yours  is  of  him,  you  discern  ; 

When  they  dig  up  your  Westminster  Abbey, 
'Twill  even  ;  we  all  have  our  turn. 

But  reflect,  as  you  dig  it  and  dump  it  — 
Your  spadeful,  I  mean  —  in  your  raids, 

How  a  blast  fiom  the  ultimate  trumpet 
Would  out-rival  a  million  of  spades  I 

This  silent  and  slumbering  nation 
In  layers  so  deep  in  the  ground, 

AH  the  pulverized  population 

Which  the  breezes  arc  blowing  around ; 

The  chariot  wheels  and  the  horses. 
The  soldiers,  the  captives,  ihe  men 

Once  Kings,  but  now  innocent  corses, 
I'm  certain  could  startle  you  then! 

Old  Assan-bonipal,  Sargon, 

Esar-haildon  — all  still  in  their  beds  — 

Whose  sj^cecii  was  that  stammering  jargon, 
Whose  business  was  —  chopping  ofl"  heads. 

Remember,  I  say,  if  you  must  keep 
At  work  at  your  pilfering  so. 

What  a  stir  there  would  be  in  your  dust  heap 
If  the  trumpet  should  happen  to  blow. 




Few  of  the  New  England  colonial  pastorates  were  more  remark- 
able, both  as  regards  length  and  an  even  tenor  of  prosperity,  than 
thai  of  the  Rev.  Edward  Barnard  over  the  first  church  in  Haverhill, 
Massachusetts.  A  contemporary  diary  has  this  record:  **  April  16, 
1743.  (jfcat  snow  storm,  eleven  inches  on  a  level.  Rev.  Barnard 

The  ministry  which  opened  so  tempestuously,  continued  its  quiet 
course  upon  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Merrimack  for  thirty-one 
years,  thus  coming  down  to  the  very  verge  of  the  great  struggle 
for  independence.  Seven  years  before  his  settlement  at  Haverhill 
Edward  Barnard  had  graduated  at  Harvard  at  the  precocious  age 
of  sixteen.  His  grandfather  and  father  before  him  were  also 
Harvard  graduates  and  ministers  of  the  gospel,  and  all  three  had 
a  high  ♦'cputation  for  learning,  eloquence  and  dignity. 

A  little  package  of  old  manuscripts  now  preserved  in  the 
pastor's  library  of  the  Center  Church  in  Haverhill  belongs  co  the 
period  of  this  early  pastorate.  Most  of  these  documents  arc 
sermons,  written  on  small  sheets  of  coarse  paper,  now  yellow  with 
age.  A  fcv/,  which  date  back  as  far  as  the  year  17 10,  are  of  the 
time  of  Rev.  Samuel  Brown,  an  earlier  pastor,  whose  crabbed 
handwriting  is  in  marked  contrast  with  the  clear  and  graceful  style 
of  that  of  his  successor,  though  in  the  case  of  both,  it  is  painfully 
and  microscopically  minute.  Several  of  these  sermons  have 
headings  which  refer  them  to  special  occasions. — as  a  "Day  of 
general  Thanksgiving,  Aug.  10,  1710," — "The  Indians  breaking 
out,  1746,"  —  "On  account  of  the  rebellion  in  Scotland,  1745.** 

But  to  an  ordinary  reader,  the  most  interesting  documents  in 
the  little  package  are  three  or  four  of  a  more  personal  character, 
which  give  us  an  insight  into  the  methodical  habits  of  good  Parson 
Barnard  and  the  generous  customs  of  the  parishes  of  a  century 
and  a  half  ago. 

Two  little  yellow  almanacs  of  the  year  1741  and  1744  contain 
■various  brief  but  quaint  memoranda,  the  first  being  made  while 


Mr.  Barnard  was  as  yet  unsettled,  and  preaching,  as  these  notes 
show,  for  his  father  in  Andover,  or  at  other  places ;  while  there 
is  an  occasional  forlorn  Sunday  entry  of  **Sat  still  at  home."  On 
April  5th  and  12th,  1741,  he  preaches  for  "Bro.  Thomas  at  New- 
bury Newtown."  On  April  9th  he  rather  sarcastically  records,  "Bro. 
Thomas  was  married  to  Mrs.  Molly  Woodbridge.  Hoh,  Hoh> 

Under  date  of  July  8th,  he  records,  "Brother  Thomas  moved  to 
his  house."  A  few  months  later,  we  read,  "  Bro.  Thomas  borrowed 
of  me  one  shilling  for  shaving,  five  shillings  for  ferrying  his  chair 
and  ten  shillings  for  Mr.  Parsons*s  sermon."  During  several 
months  of  the  year  1741,  a  list  is  kept  of  "lectures  preached  by 
itinerant  preachers,"  which  ends  suddenly  with  the  entry,  "they 
come  on  so  Thick  yt.  to  write  yr.  Names  and  places  would  be 

Being  at  last  comfortably  settled  in  his  parsonage  by  the  Merri- 
mack, Mr.  Barnard  records,  "Jan.  9th,  My  wife  came  home." 
"Mvirch  15th,  River  began  to  open."  "June  3d,  About  10  o'clock, 
terrible  Earthquake."  Then  follows  several  memoranda  of  days' 
labor  performed  by  sundry  parishioners,  and  wages  paid  to  Ruth^ 
evidently  the  maid-servant,  who,  on  March  3Tst,  "Went  to  visit 
her  Relations  with  my  Horse,"  and  "began  to  go  to  school,"  Aug. 

For  the  ten  years,  beginni;ig  with  1 762,  we  have  two  manuscripts 
entitled  "Account  of  Benefactions,"  and  containing  a  careful  list  of 
gifts  received,  with  the  donors*  names,  many  of  which  are  still 
familiar  ones  in  this  community.  This  record  of  good  things 
makes  one's  mouth  water,  even  after  the  lapse  of  a  century  and  a 
quarter.  There  are  beef  and  veal  and  chickens  and  a  long  pro- 
cession of  "roasting  Pigs;"  while  the  return  of  spring  never  failed 
to  bring  salmon,  "Shadd"  and  "  Pickarel,"  of  the  "first  catching.** 
At  Thanksgiving  time,  it  might  be  said  of  the  good — and  gifted- 
Parson  as  of  Chaucer's  franklin,  "it  snewed  in  his  house  of  meat 
and  drink."  Then  came  turkeys,  pigeons  and  geese,  "bisket"  and 
oranges,  "  mince  pye,  crambrie  tart  and  fine  Pudding"  with  no  end 
of  "spairrib."  On  another  occasion,  there  are  sent  from  "Mrs. 
Ayer,  Lady  of  ancient  Deacon,  a  cheese  new,  part  of  an  old  cheese 
and  Diet-bread  to  assist  in  the  entertainment  of  our  Quilters/* 
Gifts  of  brandy,  rum  and  "Cyder"  show  that  the  days  of  probibi-^ 


tion   had  not  as  yet  dawned,  while  pipes  and  tobacco  go   not 

Nor  were  the  donations  confined  to  supplies  for  the  inner  man. 
One  was  after  this  wise:  "Mrs.  Sally  McHard,  genteel  Tooth- 
picks to  myself  and  Lady;"  while  one  rather  puzzling  memoran- 
dum runs  thus ;  "Mr.  Marsh,  Tutor  at  College,  half  a  ticket  to  my 
wife  — 3  dollars."  A  new  saddle  from  nine  donors  is  mentioned 
in  impressive  capitals,  but  the  smallest  favors  seem  to  be  always 
noticed,  such  as  an  orange  or  two  now  and  then,  or  "a  Mugg  from 
Mrs.  Steele  and  a  little  Mugg  to  Sally  from  her  negro  girl  Kate." 

Certain  brothers  Cary  were  evidently  the  good  geniuses  of  the 
Barnard  household.  Bro.  Richard  Cary  is  credited  on  one  occa- 
sion with  the  gift  of  six  gallons  of  Rum,  and  "Bro.  Sam*l  Cary, 
quam  plurimar  Again  there  is  a  Dollar  apiece  to  "Nedd  and 
Nath*l,"  and  a  Wigg  and  pair  Scissars  from  Bro.  Nath'l  Cary,  while 
from  Rev.  Thomas  Cary,  is  acknowledged  "a  Gown  for  my  son. 
Nedd,  one  side  fine  Plaid,  other  handsome  Calliminco."  If  we 
could  only  have  a  picture  of  Master  Ned  on  his  first  appearance 
in  that  smart  new  garment,  and  find  out  its  precise  cut ! 

It  would  seem  that  the  minister  must  have  been  well  supported 
if,  as  seems  to  have  been  the  case,  these  gifts  formed  no  part  of 
his  "sallary,"  which  is  herein  stated  as  sixty  pounds  in  1762  but 
to  have  been  increased  in  1763  to  £T%y  s6,  d3. 

Just  before  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution,  the  records  cease 
with  a  few  entries  made  in  another  book  by  Sarah  Barnard,  the 
Sally  of  the  previous  entries. 

Whether  all  this  overflow  of  generous  plenty  was  kept  up  during 
the  hard  times  of  war,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing,  but  for  the 
ten  preceding  years,  life  at  the  parsonage  must  have  been  like  a 
continuous  donation  visit,  although  the  helter-skelter  character  of 
these  "  benefactions  "  reminds  us  strongly  of  Barkis'  offerings  of 
affection  to  Pegotty, — "a  double  set  of  pig's  trotters,  a  huge  pin 
cushion,  half  a  bushel  or  so  of  apples,  some  Spanish  onions,  a  box 
of  dominoes,  a  canary  bird  and  cage,  and  a  lot  of  pickled  pork. 



Writbrs  in  their  several  localities  in  New  England,  who  may  be 
cognizant  of  historical  events  and  traditions  of  which  such  localities 
claim  the  ownership,  will  always  find  the  pages  of  the  New  England 
Magazinb  open  to  the  records  which  they  may  be  pleased  to  submit 
ffor  publication.     There  is  a  mass  of  historical  matter  pertaining  to  the 
•  settlement  and  growth  of  this  section  of  the  country  which  has  never 
yet  been  brought  out  to  the  light.     It  is  a  quarry  that  invites  the  most 
.  diligent  working.     But  the  working  which  will  prove  most  effective  is 
'.  that  of  individuals  at  separated  points,  rather  than  that  of  a  single  and 
'  practically  isolated  mind,  that  has  to  laboriously  forage  for  facts  which 
are  so  familiar  to  others  as  to  be  thought  of  inferior  public  interest.    If 
the  genius  of  a  Scott  was  potent  enough  to  evoke  new  life  from  the 
naked  hills  and  gloomy  glens  of  barren  Scotland,  and  attract  the  civil- 
ized world  to  its  admiring  contemplation,  it  cannot  be  said  with  any 
tiTith  that  New  England  is  not  packed  with  local  traditions  and  popu- 
lous with  tales,  which,  once  reproduced  with  the  genuine  life-coloring, 
are  capable  of  charming  the  imaginations  of  the  present  generation  and 
leading  the  current  attention  captive. 

«  « 

New  Year's  somehow  starts  the  blood  anew,  and  brings  us  all  back 
to  fresh  life  again.  Though  its  social  recognition  may  have  lapsed 
into  a  habit,  there  is  sentiment  enough  left  to  give  it  warmth  and  ani- 
mation, and  lift  it  wholly  out  of  perfunctory  and  routine  observances. 
Everybody  welcomes  New  Year's.  It  is  the  turning  of  a  new  leaf; 
beginning  at  the  top  of  a  clean  page ;  the  glad  contemplation  of  a 
record  that  is  yet  to  be  made ;  the  unobstructed  view  from  the  crest  of 
the  next  hill ;  a  willing  forgetfulness  temporarily  of  the  experience  that 
lies  behind,  and  an  eager  welcoming  of  all  that  is  unlimited  and  untried 
before.  Wc  all  need  such  a  day  at  least  once  in  the  course  of  the  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five.  It  is  good  for  us  as  a  help  to  self-purification. 
Did  we  never  feel  a  simultaneous  impulse  to  cut  loose  from  the  old  and 
habitual  and  reach  out  for  that  which  is  yet  unsoiled  by  our  contact,  it 
would  be  but  a  dead  life  that  we  are  leading,  and  it  might  as  well  be 
without  imagination  and  sentiment  as  not.  Therefore  the  New  Year's 
holiday  is  instinctively  held  in  true  esteem  by  the  world  of  civilization^ 
and  made  the  occasion  for  revising  the  conduct  and  renewing  the 


Although  the  year  naturally  begins  for  all  races  of  men  with  the 
Tcturn  of  Spring,  when  the  year  is  new  indeed,  by  imperial  edict  it  has 
l>ecn  arbitrarily  set  where  it  is,  with  no  significance  beyond  that  which 
goes  with  personal  ambition.  We  observe  it  where  it  now  is  because 
we  have  observed  it,  and  for  no  otlier  reason.  But  coming  so  near 
the  mid-winter,  it  chances  that  our  facilities  for  turning  it  to  good 
social  account  are  much  superior  to  what  they  would  be  at  the  time  of 
the  early  equinox.  The  custom  of  the  country  here  is  snow  and  sleigh- 
riding,  sharp,  clear  air,  bright  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  gay  spirits,  good 
wishes,  and  the  exchange  of  gifts.  If  ever  during  the  twelve-month, 
this  is  the  time  to  forgive  injuries  and  advance  to  new  friendships ;  the 
time  to  reject  what  is  worthless  or  harmful  in  our  lives,  and  resolve  on 
the  steady  attainment  of  what  is  pure  and  noble,  and  enriching ;  the 
time  to  bury  old  resentments,  and  all  needless  griefs,  and  every  ob- 
structing habit  under  the  white  snows  of  the  season.  The  wish  springs 
in  every  breast  to  be  happy,  and  that  of  course  carries  with  it  the  diffu- 
sion of  happiness.  The  common  desire  is  to  discover,  each  for  him- 
self, a  fresh,  new  world.  And  that  is  why  we  all  kindly  offer,  one  to 
the  other,  the  sincere  wish  for  A  Happy  New  Year. 


The  American  workingman  is  in  many  respects  a  unique  being.  Not 
only  is  he  the  special  product  of  nineteenth  century  civilization  but  of 
nineteenth  century  civilization  on  American  soil  under  the  influence  of 
American  republican  institutions,  in  the  midst  of  American  industrial 
prosperity,  and  as  an  important  and  powerful  political  factor  in  a  country 
-where  vast  mines  of  material  wealth  have  barely  begun  to  be  discovered. 
It  will  be  readily  admitted  that,  as  a  rule,  tlie  workingman  of  the  time, 
to  whatever  department  of  handicraft  or  labor  his  productive  skill  and 
energies  may  be  devoted,  is  worthy  of  the  favorable  social  and  political 
setting  in  which  he  finds  himself.  He  is,  as  a  rule,  a  man  of  observa- 
tion and  intelligence,  and  has  deliberately- formed  and  well-matured 
opinions  on  most  questions  that  concern  his  own  position,  privileges, 
rights,  duties  and  responsibilities  as  a  citizen.  He  is  industrious, 
honestly  endeavoring  to  fill  each  labor-hour  with  such  work  as  shall 
prove  a  solid  contribution  to  the  wealth  and  well-being  of  the  world. 
He  is  sober,  careful,  thrifly,  a  lover  of  family  and  home,  not  courting 
the  questionable  associations  of  the  saloon  nor  wasting  his  hard-earned 
wages  in  the  indulgence  of  sensual  and  imbruting  passions.  He  is  a 
loyal  and  law-abiding  citizen  ready  to  uphold  the  honor  of  the  flag,  and 
anxious  to  maintain  the  social  order  which  guarantees  his  own  and  his 
children's  social  well-being.  Such  a  being  must  always  be  a  felt  power 
in  any  civilized  community  and  his  opinions  must  always  claim  respect- 


are  esteemed  good  fellows,  and  no  one  has  any  particular  objection  to 
them.  Town  meetings  elect  officers  for  what  they  know  they  will  do. 
The  result  has  generally  been  that  the  city  councils  are  composed,  to 
a  large  extent,  of  small  men,  not  to  say  bad  men,  eager  for  public  dis- 
tinction, who  will  resort  to  all  the  expedients  of  partisan  practice  to 
get  themselves  nominated  and  elected.  The  wiser  and  better  informed 
class  of  citizens  will  not  resort  to  these  schemes,  and  prefer  to  remain 
at  home,  and  so  the  field  is  left  open  to  men  who  are  not  qualified  at 
all  to  perform  public  duties  well.  The  remedy  proposed  was  to  have  a 
lar<j^er  membership  of  the  common  council.  He  would  make  twenty 
members  for  each  ward,  to  be  elected  on  a  general  ticket.  A  few  really 
able  and  strong  men  would  be  put  on  each  party  ticket  to  make  it  go  at 
the  polls.  The  people  would  have  the  benefit  of  these  few  superior 
men  from  each  ward,  whichever  party  triumphed,  whose  presence  in 
the  council  would  improve  the  tone  and  elevate  the  standard  of  public 
<lcliberative  proceedings.  The  highly  unobjectionable  men  on  either 
ticket  would  be  likely  to  be  scratched.  And  the  large  assembly  chosen 
\\  ould  perform  the  function  in  civics  that  the  town  meeting  for  two 
centuries  has  performed. 

The  labor  problem  incessantly  urges  itself  upon  the  public  attention. 
It  will  not  down  at  any  man's  bidding.  It  is  stated  in  all  its  forms  and 
with  every  circumstance  of  detail.  It  is  becoming,  in  fact,  the  question 
of  the  hour.  Labor  demands,  to  condense  the  matter,  a  larger  share 
of  the  product.  It  alleges  that  profit  is  drawn  entirely  from  that,  and 
hence  that  it  has  a  claim  to  a  larger  share.  It  challenges  the  customary 
assumption  that  it  is  paid  out  of  a  stated  wage-fund,  the  accumulation 
of  past  industry  and  saving,  and  insists  that  it  earns  its  rightful  wages 
as  it  goes  along,  and  tiiat  those  wages  come  out  of  the  product  and 
nothing  else.  This  point  conceded,  which  labor  advocates  and  main- 
tains with  all  its  ability,  the  consequent  one  is  tiiat  it  is  entitied  to  a 
proportionate  reward  of  the  product,  or,  in  other  words,  of  the  profit  of 
the  product  when  exchanged.  Labor  denies  that  with  increased  pro- 
duction wages  should  be  lower,  asserting,  on  the  other  hand,  that  they 
should  be  higher.  The  larger  the  product  the  more  there  should  be 
to  be  distributed. 

It  is  questioned,  with  the  utmost  seriousness,  whether  an  increase  of 
laborers  does  indeed  diminish  the  wage-fund,  seeing  that  that  exists 
only  in  the  product  itself  at  the  different  stages  of  its  progress.  Capi- 
tal, it  is  held  by  the  advocates  of  labor,  may  assist  in  the  work  of 
production,  and  is  chiefly  serviceable  in  storing  the  results  and  handling 
them  to  the  best  advantage,  speculatively  and  otherwise ;  but  it  is  not 
out  of  that,  but  out  of  tiie  product  of  labor  that  wages  come,  and  they 


are  not  actually  paid  until  the  work  of  production  is  completed^ 
Hence  labor  claims  its  proportionate  share  -of  the  result,  which  it 
asserts  it  does  not  now  receive.  This  is  the  substance  of  the  claim  set 
up  on  its  behalf,  and  the  real  object  of  the  current  contention.  Yet, 
allowing  that  it  could  ultimately  succeed  in  enforcing  its  claims,  it  will 
have  to  be  remembered  that  thrift,  and  sacrifice,  and  sobriety,  and  sav- 
ing will  more  than  ever  constitute  the  plain  conditions  of  its  success, 
without  which  it  cannot  expect  to  better  itself  at  any  time.  Labor  has 
yet  to  learn  to  correct  the  habit  of  waste  in  its  many  forms  before  it 
can  hope  lo  secure  a  prosperity  either  appreciable  or  enduring. 

The  series  of  papers  on  Isms  and  Denominations  which  has  been 
projected  lor  the  pages  of  this  magazine  will  be  found  continued  in 
the  present  issue,  the  article  on  the  Congregational  Churches,  by  one- 
of  the  most  distinguished  and  learned  of  the  leaders  of  that  denomina- 
tion, being  worthy  of  the  widest  attention.  Although  the  two  subjects 
are  practically  unrelated,  they  nevertheless  run  one  into  the  other  by 
the  process  of  natural  affinity,  which  rarely  fails  to  bring  together 
tilings  habitually  kept  apart  and  not  permitted  to  be  even  mentioned 
together.  The  religious  principle  really  runs  through  all  forms  of 
belief,  so  that  it  may  be  considered  next  to  i/npossible  to  make  a  state- 
ment of  one  without  impliedly  introducing  all  the  rest.  For  the  first 
time  The  New  England  Magazine  undertakes  to  present  the  dif- 
ferent sects  and  beliefs  in  their  proper  order  and  mutual  relation,  and 
to  thoroughly  inform  the  public  mind  on  a  subject  whose  several 
branches  more  often  create  perplexity  of  thought  than  they  excite- 
sympathetic  inquiry.  These  several  papers  cannot  fail  to  prove  fully 
as  instructive  as  they  will  be  found  interesting. 

«  * 

Tiiic  overworking^  of  school-children  has  finally  grown  to  the  di- 
mensions of  a  general  complaint,  not  so  much  by  the  immediate  suf- 
ferers as  bv  tlieir  parents  and  friends,  whose  experience  is  ripe  enough 
to  satisfy  them  of  the  pernicious  folly  of  the  practice.  Studies  are 
piled  in  on  the  young  mind  that  are  not  rudimentary  nor  yet  of  any 
service  in  discipline,  tasking  only  the  memory  already  overstrained,  and 
exciting  only  the  passionate  elements  of  ambition.  The  production  of 
prodigies  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  undue  magnification  of  tlie  teacher's 
oflicc  on  the  other,  seem  to  be  the  chief  purpose  of  the  public  school 
system  which  is  supported  at  such  vast  and  increasing  cost  to  the  tax- 
payers ;  but  when  a  fresh  army  of  youth  is  annually  turned  out  upon  the 
world,  with  faculties  awakened  to  a  rather  preternatural  appreciation  of 


their  situation  but  without  openings  anywhere  awaiting  them,  it  be- 
comes a  serious  question  to  know  wliat  to  do  with  them.  There  is  no- 
doubt  that  a  certain  amount  of  industrial  education  would  prove  a 
healthy  check  to  the  present  tendency  to  crowd  fruitless  studies  into 
unwilling  minds,  while  it  would  obviously  prepare  multitudes  for  a 
career  of  productive  usefulness  on  which  they  might  enter  almost  im- 

Congress  adjourned  for  a  holiday  season  of  two  weeks,  according  ta 
the  invariable  custom.  No  business  of  importance  had  been  transacted 
previous  to  the  adjournment,  but  a  number  of  measures  will  be  pressed 
to  an  issue  soon  after  the  re-assembling,  the  interstate  commerce  bill 
noticeably.  A  proposition  to  repeal  the  internal  revenue  taxes  is  pro- 
mised, but  it  is  not  thought  that  it  can  prevail.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  matters  connected  with  Congress  is  the  proposal  to  extend 
the  short  session  until  Ajwil,  to  the  date  on  which  occurs  the  anniver- 
sary of  the  original  installation  of  the  Government.  This  would  give 
more  time  for  business  to  the  second  session  of  each  Congress,  and 
tend  to  bring  it  up  to  the  level  of  practical  importance  which  attaches 
to  the  long  session.  And  the  proposed  change  in  the  day  of  inaugura- 
tion, too,  would  bring  that  universally  interesting  event  into  a  season 
that  would  naturally  invite  a  much  larger  attendance  of  the  people  from 
every  part  of  the  country. 

«  * 

The  number  of  public  libraries  in  the  United  States,  listing  about 
six  thousand,  constitutes  the  promise  and  potency  of  a  numerous 
people,  whose  destiny  it  is  to  be  thoroughly  intelligent  and  instructed 
far  above  the  average  standard  so  far  achieved  by  modern  civilization. 
These  scattered  libraries  are  like  seed  sown  broadcast  over  the  country, 
to  spring  up  and  bear  fruit,  some  twenty,  some  sixty,  and  some  an 
hundred  fold.  One  can  better  estimate  their  actual  influence  by  im- 
agining what  the  country'  would  be  without  them.  We  might,  it  is 
true,  become  the  richest  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth  in  point  of  pro- 
.ductive  power  and  its  sure  accumulations,  and  still  travel  our  weary, 
dreary  rounds  in  the  deep  straw  of  materialism,  ending  with  the  sleep 
of  satiety.  Would  that  indeed  be*  life,  or  even  approach  to  any  one  of 
its  ideals.'*  Impossible.  Let  us  not,  then,  underrate  the  continual 
companionship  of  the  public  librar}',  or  hesitate  in  rendering  it  all  the 
support  it  requires  at  our  hands.  It  contains  the  real  world  within  this 
outer  and  visible  world,  and  is  able  to  create  anew  from  the  old,  and 
thereby  dissipate  all  cares  and  lighten  the  burdens  of  sorrow  itself. 


Index-making  for  books  is  far  nioiethan  an  art,  though  many  people 
are  satisfied  to  regard  it  as  not  much  more  tlian  an  industry.  It  tasks 
the  whole  family  of  the  faculties  of  the  maker's  mind.  There  is  hardly 
an  intellectual  quality  which  it  does  not  put  to  instant  and  continuous 
service.  The  London  Globe  estimates  it  none  too  highly  in  8a3ring 
*'that  the  index-maker  must  have  a  high  degree  of  imagination  in  the 
truest  sense  —  enough  to  put  himself  in  tlie  place  of  eveiy  possible 
student  for  every  possible  pui-pose,  so  as  to  know,  by  a  sort  of  instinct, 
what  each  would  require.  He  must  have  the  logical  faculty  that  knows 
w^hat  to  omit  as  well  as  what  to  insert ;  and  he  must  know  the  work 
he  deals  with,  not  merely  with  mechanical  precision  but  with  intelli- 
gent mastery.  Indeed,  the  ordinary  index-maker  is  in  this  unfortunate 
position — he  requires  qualities  that  would  place  him  above  his  work, 
and  yet  he  cannot  do  his  work  efficiently  without  them.  The  result  is 
that  there  is  scarcely  such  a  thing  as  a  really  good  index  in  the  world ; 
nor  will  there  be,  until  the  truth  is  recognized  of  the  fact  that  the  pro- 
duction of  more  indices  to  books,  and  not  more  books  themselves,  is 
the  most  practically  useful  work  in  which  any  trained  scholar  can  en- 
gage. A  good  and  comprehensive  index  should  be  worth,  to  its  com- 
piler, the  nunjber  of  its  words  in  gold ;  and  its  achievement  should 
imply  fame." 

The  concluding  paragraph  in  the  recent  lecture  of  Henry  George, 
delivered  in  Boston,  on  *' Moses  and  the  Land  Question,"  is  worth  re- 
petition here.  After  describing  and  defining  the  work  of  creating  a 
people  which  alone  has  made  the  name  of  Moses  the  example  for  the 
law-givers  of  all  time,  he  apostrophized  him  thus: — ''  He  was  a  leader 
and  servant  of  men  !  Law-giver  and  benefactor  I  Toiler  towards  the 
promised  land,  seen  only  by  the  eye  of  faith  !  Type  of  the  high  souls 
who  in  every  ngc  have  given  to  earth  its  heroes  and  martyrs,  whose 
<lecds  are  the  precious  possessions  of  the  race,  whose  memories  are  its 
precious  heritage  !  With  whom  among  the  founders  of  empires  shall 
we  compare  him?  To  dispute  about  the  inspiration  of  such  a  man 
were  to  dispute  about  words.  From  the  depth  of  the  unseen  such 
characters  must  draw  their  strength  ;  from  fountains  that  flow  only  for 
the  pure  in  heart  must  come  their  wisdom.  Of  something  more  real 
than  matter ;  of  something  higher  than  the  stars ;  of  a  light  that  will 
ciulurc  when  suns  arc  dead  and  dark  ;  of  a  purpose  of  which  the  phy- 
sical universe  is  but  a  passing  phase.  'No  man  knoweth  of  his 
sepulchre  unto  this  day.'  But  while  the  despoiled  tombs  of  the 
Pharaohs  mock  the  vanitv  that  reared  them,  the  name  of  the  Hebrew 
who,  revolting  from  their  tyranny,  strove  for  the  elevation  of  his  fellow- 
men,  is  a  beacon  light  to  the  world." 


Lord  Tennyson's  "  Locksley  Hall  Sixty  Years  After  "  would  fitly 
constitute  the  dying  song  of  this  immortal  poet  of  humanity.  The  old 
man  of  eighty  is  back  where  his  ill-fated  passion  of  twenty  burned  itself 
out.  The  poem,  marvellous  in  its  music  as  in  its  sorrowful  expression, 
is  a  long  retrospect,  taking  in  the  many  changes  that  have  occurred  in 
the  world's  life  in  an  interval  of  three  'score  years.  It  reads  with  the 
profoundest  impressiveness  in  contrast  with  the  original  poem  of  which 
it  is  the  sequel,  but  can  hardly  be  appreciated  by  the  younger  as  it  will 
be  by  the  older,  and  even  the  oldest  class  of  readers.  The  dreams  and 
aspirations  of  youth  unrealized  ;  hopes  dissipated  in  illusions ;  gladness 
gone  into  the  dark  shadows  of  sorrow  ;  early  unrest  satisfied  to  confess 
itself  baffled  and  worn  out ;  questions  once  put  with  a  triumphant  pos- 
itiveness  returning  without  an  answer  to  the  aged  questioner : — it  is  but 
the  experience  of  prolonged  years,  certain  to  become  the  lot  of  all  who 
are  fortunate  or  unfortunate  enough  to  achieve  them.  The  world  has 
no  poet  now  living  who,  first  conceiving  this  sorrow,  contrast  of  time 
with  itself,  is  likewise  able  to  record  it  in  such  sadly  harmonious  syl- 
lables as  these,  the  last  from  the  wonderful  heart  and  brain  of 


The  seventy-ninth  birthday  of  the  poet  John  Greenleaf  Whittier 
was  duly  observed  by  his  friends.  He  passed  the  day  at  Oak  Knoll, 
Danvers,  his  home,  receiving  numerous  visitors  besides  many  letters 
and  telegrams  of  congratulation.  But  of  them  all  he  said  he  prized 
none  more  than  the  one  from  his  venerable  and  honored  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Elizabeth  M.  Putnam,  who  had  just  entered  on  the  one  hundred 
and  third  year  of  her  life.  She  lives  very  near  the  poet  in  Danvers. 
The  Misses  Johnson,  his  relatives,  tendered  him  a  birthday  dinner,  and 
the  birthday  cake  bore  the  words  upon  it — "Sweeter  than  song  of 
birds  is  a  thankful  voice. "  Among  the  gifts  presented  him  on  the 
occasion  was  a  basket  filled  with  the  fruit  of  all  lands,  with  a  suitable 
inscription  and  note,  and  a  cane  made  from  the  wood  of  the  house  of 
Wendell  Phillips,  in  Essex  street,  Boston,  (now  removed)  gold-mounted 
and  suitably  inscribed.  The  poet  is  in  good  health,  and  stays  fast  at 
home,  having  been  in  Boston  but  once  during  the  season.  .  He  spoke 
pleasantly  of  his  old  literary  companions,  many  of  them  dead,  and  of 
the  enjoyment  of  Boston  in  the  winter  by  reason  of  its  lectures  and 

Eli  AS  Polk,  a  colored  man,  the  old  body-servant  of  the  late  Presi- 
,  dent  Polk,  shook  hands  with  President  Cleveland  at  one  of  his  recent 


public  receptions.  The  old  man  is  eightj'-one  years  old,  and  lives, 
with  the  venerable  widow  of  the  late  President  at  Nashville,  Tenn^ 
His  boast  is  that  he  has  personally  seen  ever}-  President  since  Joha 
Quincy  Adams,  the  latter  included,  and  is  determined  to  see  them  all 
while  he  lives.  He  says  his  aged  mistress,  who  is  three  years  older 
than  himself,  is  growing  very  feeble  and  does  not  wish  to  be  troubled. 

*  * 


Three  of  the  most  eminent  scholars  in  the  academical  circles  of 
Switzerland  died  at  the  close  of  November —  Professor  Johannes 
Scherr,  of  Zurich,  Professor  Albert  Burkhardt,  of  Basle,  and  Professor 
Eugene  Rambert,  of  Lausanne.  They  were  stricken  down  on  suces- 
sive  days.  Scherr,  called  "  The  German  Carlyle, "  and  Rambert,  the 
poet,  novelist,  critic,  and  biographer  of  ^'inet,  had  a  reputation 
throughout  Europe. 


Abram  S.  Hewitt,  the  newly  elected  mayor  of  New  York,  was- 
tendered  a  farewell  dinner  by  his  colleagues  of  the  New  York  Con- 
gressional Delegation.     There  were  but  lour  invited  guests,  including^ 

the  Speaker  of  the  House. 

»  « 

Marshal  MacMahon,  formerly  President  of  the  French  Republic, 
is  now  seventy-eight  years  old,  and  has  returned  to  Paris,  where  he  is- 
leading  a  very  quiet  life.  Two  army  officers  are  assigned  to  him  a& 
his  staff,  as  a  mark  of  continued  public  respect. 

«  « 

Senator  Voorhees,  of  Indiana,  is  this  winter  occupying  in  Wash- 
ington, the  house  occupied  by  John  Quincy  Adams,  when  the  latter 
was  nominated  and  elected  President. 

*  * 

Rev.  Dr.  McGlynn  was  suspended  from  his  functions  as  pastor  of 

St.  Stephen's  Church,  New  York  City,  by  Archbishop  Corrigan,  for 

insubordination  in  persisting  in  actively  aiding  the  cause  advocated  bv 

Henry  George  after  having  been  warned  against  identifving  himself 

with  it.     Dr.  McGlvnn  has  been  summoned  to  Rome  to  answ'cr  to  the 

Pope  on  tlic  charges  preferred,  and  the  leaders  of  the  labor  movement 

await  the   final    decision   by  the  Supreme  authority  of  the  Catholic 

church,  in  his  case,  with  much  more  than  a  feeling  of  interest. 

*  « 

In  consequence  of  an  interchange  of  views  between  Mr.  Gladstone 

and  his  coUeajjues  of  the  late  Liberal  Cabinet,   it  was  aj^reed,  on  the: 



reopening  of  Parliannent,  to  support  the  Government  in  all  legal  efforts 
to  suppress  the  anti-rent  campaign,  but  to  urge  the  immediate  enforce- 
ment of  some  form  of  Mr.  Parnell's  bill  for  the  suspension  of  evictions. 
The  action  of  Messrs.  Dillon  and  O'Brien  has  irritated  the  Liberal 
circle,  and  the  anti-rent  leaders  have  received  warning  that  there  is  no 
chance  that  the  cooperation  of  Mr.  Gladstone  will  continue  unless  they 
submit  to  Mr.  Pamell,  who  is  desirous  of  a  common  policy  with  Mr. 
Gladstone,  and  is  therefore  suspected  of  aiming  to  suppress  the  plan  of 
campaign.  Both  Mr.  Gladstone  and  Mr.  Pamell  are  said  to  be  no 
longer  in  accord  with  their  followers,  who,  unless  they  mend  their 
ways,  will  find  themselves,  when  Parliament  meets,  without  even  the 
rump  of  a  party. 


Forefathers*  Day  was  widely  and  enthusiastically  celebrated  last 
month,  the  gathering  of  the  different  societies  comprising  many  men  of 
note  and  real  distinction.  A  number  of  the  principal  cities  of  the 
country  observed  it  appropriately  by  the  meeting  of  their  New  England 
societies,  and  so  did  many  cities  and  towns  in  Massachusetts  and  New 
England.  The  New  York  meeting  was  distinguished  for  the  character 
of  its  speakers  and  the  felicity  of  their  speeches.  Perhaps  the  most 
noticeable  of  all  these  commemorative  meetings  was  that  of  the  Con- 
gregational Club  of  Boston,  which  held  its  exercises  in  Music  Hall, 
many  ladies  being  present.  Probably  a  thousand  persons  were  as- 
sembled. Rev.  Dr.  Webb,  president  of  the  club,  opened  the  exercises, 
and  after  brief  remarks  introduced  Governor  Robinson,  who  made  a 
felicitous  address.  The  other  speakers  succeeding  him  were  Dr.  Ban- 
croft, President  of  Phillips  Academy,  Andover,  Professor  Heman 
Lincoln  of  the  Newton  Theological  Seminary,  President  Robinson  of 
Brown  University,  and  Hon.  James  G.  Blaine  of  Maine.  The  speech 
of  the  latter  was  the  speech  of  the  occasion,  and  called  forth  constant 
enthusiasm.  The  closing  point  made  by  Mr.  Blaine,  and  with  much 
force,  was  that  ministers  ought  to  preach  instead  of  reading  their  ser- 
mons. The  day  has  not  been  more  generally  or  more  enthusiastically 
commemorated  in  many  years. 


E.  Price  Greexleaf  died  in  Boston  last  month  at  the  age  of  96. 
He  was  a  native  of  Boston,  having  been  born  on  the  site  of  the  13oston 
Athenaeum,  was  educated  in  the  Latin  School,  and  early  in  life  went  to 
South  Carolina  to  engage  in  business.     He  not  long  afterwards  returned 


to  Boston,  and  entered  into  trade  in  which  he  finally  failed.  From  that 
time  he  took  up  his  residence  with  his  father  in  Quincy,  where  he  con- 
tinued to  live  for  over  fiffy  years.  He  passed  the  time  in  profound 
studies  and  working  in  the  garden  attached  to  the  house.  Latterly  he 
had  spent  his  summers  in  a  little  interior  town  in  the  State  of  New 
York,  living  in  a  little  woode]^  house  and  attended  only  by  a  trusted 
ser\'ant.  What  he  ate  he  raised  himself  in  the  little  garden  hard  by. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  age  of  sixty  he  came  into  possession  of  property 
by  the  death  of  his  father,  and  subsequently  of  his  aunt  and  sisters, 
which  he  sedulously  nursed  till,  at  the  time  of  his  death,  he  had  in- 
creased it  to  between  $400,000  and  $500,000.  Nearly  the  whole  of  his 
large  property  he  left  by  will  to  Harvard  College. 

.♦  • 

Miss  Emma  Taylor,  of  St.  Johnsbury,  Vt.,  sister  of  Dr.  Samuel 

Taylor,  president  of  Phillips*  Andover  Academy,  and  of  the  wife  of 

Governor   Fairbanks,  of  Vermont,  died  in   December.      She  was  a 

native  of  Deny,  N.  H.,  and  was  at  one  time  a  teacher  in  St.  Johnsbury 



Col.  Isaac  Hull  Wright  died  at  his  residence  in  Dorchester  on 
the  2 2d  of  December  at  the  age  of  73  years.  He  was  a  native  of  Bos- 
ton, and  a  graduate  of  the  English  High  School  in  1829.  Educated  to 
mercantile  life,  he  took  to  the  newspaper.  He  assisted  in  raising  the 
Massachusetts  Volunteers  for  tlic  Mexican  War,  and  was  commissioned 
as  captain,  and  subsequently  as  lieutenant-colonel  when  the  regiment 
was  organized.  When  Caleb  Cushing  was  promoted  to  a  generalship 
Colonel  Wright  was  made  colonel,  and  commanded  the  regiment  to 
the  close  of  the  war.  He  subsequently  received  the  appointment  of 
navy  agent  for  Boston,  and  afterwards  was  made  superintendent  of  the 
armory  at  Springfield,  Mass.  He  was  ser\'ing  his  third  term  as  street 
commissioner  of  Boston  at  the  time  of  his  death,  and  was  chairman  of 
the  board. 

«  « 

General  John  A.  Logan,  United  States  Senator  from  Illinois, 
died  at  his  residence  in  Washington,  D.  C,  on  the  26th  of  December, 
at  the  age  of  nearly  sixt}'-one  years.  The  cause  of  his  death  was  acute 
rheumatism.  The  event  was  wholly  unexpected  by  his  family  and 
friends.  Gen.  Logan  was  born  in  Jackson  County,  Illinois,  his  father 
having  emigrated  to  this  country  from  Ireland.  At  the  outbreak  of  the 
Mexican  War  Gen.  Logan  was  twenty-one  years  old,  and  volunteered 
in  the  scr\'ice  and  came  out  with  credit.     He  afterwards  studied  law. 


began  its  practice,  was  elected  to  the  legislature  of  his  native  State,  and 
henceforward  gave  himself  up  to  politics.  A  Democrat  hitherto, 
when  the  civil  war  broke  out  he  took  up  the  cause  of  the  Union,  and 
did  a  great  deal  to  turn  popular  opinion  in  Southern  Illinois.  At  the 
time  of  the  first  battle  of  Bull  Run  he  was  a  member  of  Congress,  and 
immediately  after  adjournment  returned  home,  raised  a  regiment  in  the 
face  of  powerful  local  prejudice,  and  took  the  field  with  the  volunteer 
army  of  the  Union.  His  record  during  the  war  was  a  brilliant  one. 
He  came  out  of  it  with  highest  honors.  He  was  afterwards  twice 
elected  United  States  Senator  from  Illinois,  and  was  on  the  ticket  with 
Mr.  Blaine  for  the  Presidency.  He  was  likewise,  a  probable  candidate 
for  the  Presidential  nomination  by  his  party  in  1888. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Fletcher  died  at  Auburn,  N.  Y.,  December  18, 
was  a  native  of  Peru,  Me.,  where  he  was  born  in  1818.  He  went  to 
Lowell  at  an  early  age,  and  subsequently  to  North  Chelmsford,  where 
he  had  charge  of  the  Baldwin  Company's  Worsted  Mills  during  the 
greater  part  of  his  business  career. 

Hon.  Theophilus  P.  Chandler  died  at  Brookline,  Mass.,  Decem- 
ber 21,  in  his  eightieth  year.  He  was  the  son  of  Peleg  Chandler,  and 
was  born  in  New  Gloucester,  Mc.  Before  he  had  reached  his  eight- 
eenth year  he  began  the  study  of  law  in  his  father's  oflEice,  and  was 
admitted  to  the  bar  and  began  legal  practice  at  Bangor,  afterwards  re- 
moving to  Boston,  where  he  continued  the  practice  for  forty  years  and 
more.  He  had  seven  children,  all  at  present  living  but  his  eldest  son, 
who  was  killed  in  battle,  in  Virginia,  in  1864.  Mr.  Chandler  was  for 
four  years  president  of  the  Northern  Railroad  of  New  York  ;  in  Janu- 
ary, 1861,  was  appointed  one  of  the  Peace  Commissioners  from 
Massachusetts  to  the  national  convention,  held  at  Washington  prior  to 
the  breaking  out  of  the  civil  war ;  in  June,  1863,  was  appointed 
United  States  Assistant  Treasurer  for  Boston,  and  held  that  ofl[ice  for 
five  years. 

Henry  C.  Kingsley,  Treasurer  of  Yale  College,  died  December 
19,  at  New  Haven,  from  injuries  received  four  weeks  before  by  being 
thrown  from  his  carriage.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Yale  in  the  class  of 
1834,  ^^^  ^^  ^^  Law  School  class  of  1S36.  He  was  a  son  of  the  late 
Professor  James  L.  Kingsley,  professor  of  Latin  at  Yale  for  many 

John  Edwards  died  at  Portland,  Me.,  December  23.  He  was 
born  in  Boston  eighty-five  years  ago,  and  went  to  Portland  in  1814, 


where  he  learned  the  printer's  trade  in  the  Argus  and  Advertiser 
offices,  and  finally  purchased  a  half  interest  in  the  Advertiser.  He 
was  the  oldest  printer  in  Portland.  Over  fifty  years  ago  he  was  the 
senior  partner  of  the  firm  that  began  the  publication  of  the  Portland 
Daily  Advertiser.  He  was  proprietor  and  editor  of  the  Bangor  Whig 
from  1838  to  1 84 1,  and  subsequently  became  the  publisher  of  the  Port- 
land Tribune  and  the  Bulletin. 

«  « 

George  J.  Brooks  died  December  23,  He  was  a  native  of  West 
Cambridge,  Mass.  He  had  been  a  member  of  the  California  Legisla- 
ture, and  at  the  time  of  his  death  was  a  member  of  the  Vermont 
Legislature  from  Brattleboro.  He  had  recently  given  to  Brattleboro  a 
fine  new  public  library  building,  which  is  to  be  dedicated  January  12. 


Captain  William  Walker  Moore  died  in  Washington,  Decem- 
ber 23,  at  the  age  of  eighty-four  years.  He  was  a  printer  in  the  office 
of  the  National  Intclh'gencer,  under  Gales  and  Seaton,  for  thirty  years 
before  the  war,  and  had  charge  of  that  paper.  He  was  frequently  with 
his  father  and  uncles  in  1814  at  Fort  McIIcniy,  when  it  was  threatened 
l)v  the  British  fleet,  and  after  its  bombardment  he  was  enrolled  with 
other  boys  of  his  age  to  prepare  ammunition  for  other  attacks. 

James  W.  Johnson  died  December  18  in  Boston,  in  his  sixty-first 
year.  He  was  born  in  Enfield,  N.  H,,  and  received  a  very  meagre 
education  in  his  youth.  He  was  a  clerk  in  a  country  store  until  he  was 
twenty-six  years  old,  when  he  began  to  trade  for  himself  in  produce 
and  cattle,  buying  droves  of  tlie  latter  in  Canada  and  northern  New 
York,  and  selling  them  to  the  New  Hampshire  farmers.  Afterwards 
he  became  a  dealer  in  wool.  In  his  boyhood  his  parents  were  in  ex- 
tremely straitened  circumstances.  He  bought  the  Quincy  House  in 
Boston,  in  1S74,  and  since  that  date  has  continued  its  proprietor.  He 
improved,  and  remodelled,  and  extended  the  old  house,  carrying  it  up 
to  the  height  of  seven  stories,  and  invested  in  it  altogether  a  million 
dollars.     His  funeral  was  largely  attended  by  men  of  public  note. 

«  « 

Captain  Jotiiam  Johnson  of  Durham,  Me.,  died  December  ijrth» 
at  the  great  age  of  I03  years.  He  was  born  on  Whaleboat  Island, 
Harpswell,  Me.,  in  1784,  and  from  the  age  of  seven  to  that  of  seventy 
he  followed  the  sea,  being  a  fisherman,  and  after  a  time  a  captain.  He 
was  a  soldier  in  the  war  of  181 2,  and  witnessed  the  fight  between  the 


Enterprise  and  the  Boxer,  which  took  place  off  Harpswell.     He  like- 
Avise  went  on  an  expedition  to  Dover  Straits  with  General  Braddock. 

Hon.  Marshall  P.  Wilder  died  at  his  home  in  Dorchester,  Mass., 
on  the  morning  of  December  i6th,  at  the  age  of  88  years.  He  had  been 
one  of  the  most  prosperous  of  Boston  merchants  for  over  fifty  years, 
coming  from  Rindge,  N.  H.,  where  he  was  born.  He  had  good  healthy 
blood  in  his  veins,  derived  from  a  sturdy  and  distinguished  ancestry. 
^Mthough  all  his  life  a  merchant,  Mr.  Wilder  really  devoted  himself  to 
horticultural  pursuts,  in  which  he  achieved  the  widest  success  and  won 
a  most  enviable  distinction.  He  had  been  President  of  the  Massachu- 
setts Horticultural  Society,  and  was  President  of  the  American  Pomo- 
logical  Society  from  its  organization  till  the  time  of  his  death.  He 
organized  many  societies  and  assisted  in  founding  many  institutions. 
He  was  President  of  the  New  England  Historic  and  Genealogical  So- 
ciety. He  had  been  commander  of  the  Ancient  and  Honorable 
Artillery  Company,  and  was  a  Free  and  Accepted  Mason  of  the 
highest  standing.  His  funeral  was  attended  by  large  representations 
of  all  the  societies  to  which  he  had  belonged,  and  an  eloquent  and 
fitting  eulogy  was  pronounced  over  his  remains  by  Rev.  Mr.  Packard, 
the  pastor  of  the  Second  Congregational  Church  of  Dorchester,  of 
which  Col.  Wilder  had  been  an  active  and  devoted  member  for  fifty- 
three  years. 


Gough,  though  dead,  yet  speaketh  in  his  new  booki,  the  latest  from 
his  pen.  The  book  is  very  interesting,  since  its  style  has  all  tlie  beauty 
and  vigor  of  Gough*s  pictorial  and  dramatic  oratory.  It  will  be  read 
with  pleasure  by  all  who  have  ever,  at  any  time,  heard  the  earnest 
\  oice  of  its  great  author,  when  alive,  pleading  the  cause  of  fallen 
humanity.  As  we  read  the  stories  and  illustrations  which  this  book 
contains  we  seem  to  behold  the  great  temperance  orator  on  the  plat- 
form again,  holding  all  spell-bound  by  .his  magnetic  eloquence,  so 
accurately  are  his  very  words  given.  The  material  of  the  book  has 
been  carefully  compiled  and  corrected  by  the  author,  and  is  his  last 
contribution  to  the  great  work  of  his  life.  It  is  well  printed,  full  of 
steel  engravings  and  pictorial  illustrations. 

I  Platform  Echoes,  by  John  B.  Gough.    New    York,  A.  I).  Worthington. 

'.-  *;  -  J^trvr  *  V   ''>>*i''i.  •    Vom  *h«  "5rn#5  Vv^n  r?.«r:a  -vo*  ^ 

'  f-  '#  'ifi'v^   r,  '^■^-     \  f    yr.tncin  v*nsiilA  ir,w-:  Yj  "he  present  ^ra.  is  ir 

/•    './^t    -i^ir*    'i;.;    -/  .r*fyrf^r.     7rom   !^«r  yazziiiaT  pruitinn  lerweea 

.X.;  . .-.,-.',  ;-v,r*h^ri  ^nri  Hr.*ifhem  Zjirr>»>5,  ;h«  .las  been  aibiecr  :d  more 

.  r  /.     . .,  ^    '.i',*' .-,/.   ;i .-,    .  -,  frtr,vit ;  r. ^  an ri  .  rr.  r^-, ran t  ri^iatic n  to  orher  weacem 

, . ' ,  -*  :,.^/,  '/"A '-I  p/^r . />: <4  ■  V ^/*r,  • ;-. c .nr^r. ;i r -^i sot  - ^>a : n  t;^ v e  .aw  tD 
'  ..'V  •  *;-,/^vj  vj*r!<»»i* 'V>nrJit>,r.^.  arri  mr»iniy  iuur  !n  rV'm  the  rest  of  die 
^'V  >:  v/  S'l/*,  P/r^^e^^  ar.ri  'h^  ,\rfvlifnmr.#an,  ihe  chj racrerfatics  which 
',:  ^♦i  ^/  ,.-k\x  ^■'c.ft  p^op»!^  r»f  Sr^^in  f'orrt  r,^her  nariorfl  ar»  'Iceplj  wmo^iit. 
;  f . . ; ','/'  ',Ay^r.  jiTir^r'Tvterl  w>h  »Jr.e  r.r/o:;:*v  '•.f  the  national  character  nnni 

'■if  ' 

♦:  .^-  ,-/  y/,^^!  <,f  *;-,#*,  ff:f*%^  **-/ c/^/Jjri'-^r.s  of  <i  >rv>ver7  and  war  hv  which  SDain 
*r;»  'r^/^/l  Jiri^'I  "//r.^i  **^;r-vj  ^/;o  ..crr.i^'!^.  we  are  almost  paxntrilly' 
'A?\i '  ♦/^/J  i»  U  ■//  ir-^.r^r^it^.r.^  s:'vr  ^'.c  arlrr.ired  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  to 
fir, /I  f^r  Ti'  ^,.\fr,ry  .  ".f.  r^/rj-jA  ^V.f,  petty  annal.i  of  court  intrigues. 
V'  *  fr'/rri  fr.r  f./.f  lir,rr.;ir,  .:.-iH\\r»r,  tc*  ?ho  collapje  of  Spar.Iah  power  in 
♦i  '  .  i%f  '/  fiti.r/  *:y;  r'-'o/'!  of  fh^it  \jfWtxAn  di^pla;*^  more  of  the  clement 
',f  r,ru'Uift.  'K;ir.  it  fouii'l  ifi  iiT.y  o^\\f:r  (j^AiTitry,  With  various  climate 
,.ri'l  i-^r'.it  v;iri^ty  ''/f  ■vurf.'K'/',  F.pain  h.'j^  always  possciised  great  natural 
;i"r .'  fl'-zn'-i ;  ;ir.''l  fK'  -i/ ,  v,  ith  th^:  rorr.riin^  of  the  massive  structures  of  the 
K'/jfi/'in'-i,  ;ir»'l  ro.i../  fir»^-  '.],*'/ ATUf:r\^  of  M''y-»  architecture,  still  well- 
|/r'  ••;'  rv/-^l,  u\\\^'/\'  '\  v/itli  rn^my  ;iri^  i'':nt  «»tr ucturcs of  distinctively  Spanish 
^;»/  »^r,  to  ^l.iy  ofl/  r  ;itfr;iotior»ft  to  the  tr>urist  hardly  inferior  to  those 
t,\  rifi'/  ofh'r  p;irf  of  flif  v/or)d.  Jf»  prfipfiration  for  writing  the  pleasing 
jMi'l  po|Mfl:iily  f;iiffK  i'rit  f;fory  of  Sp;iin  which  lies  l>cforc  us  the  eminent 
Mirtliorq  }i;ivr  )i;id  t)i/*  »'lv;int;i^r:  of  travel  and  residence  amid  the  scenes- 
wli'rf  thr  (nf;it  find  littlf!  vyvu\H  of  tlir:  liistory  were  enacted,  and  we 
MM  thim  iii^^iily  fiivorf'/l  hy  tJicir  ohsc^rvntions  as  well  as  their  personal 
i|iiiililir  :iliofm  [in  \\\\%  vvoik. 

•   • 

'I  \\v  irtr{Mihit  p;irHlIrIo(^r;irTi  of  l>;irn*ii  tncMiiitiiin  and  desolate  sands, 
iiilri«;|H'mri|  mid  JKiMlnrd  l»y  tnictH  of  ^rrntcr  or  less  fertility  is  the 
|ii(i|ii  I  hfiiiir  of  II  Mut\  who,  wliilr  thry  linve  not  themselves  populated 
)il)iir<;  \Mv  lilt  tiniii  tlirii  iiiitivr  soil,  hiivr  through  kindred  tribes  and 
iiiilinip;,  III  iMir  tiiiir  ni  iiiint Im'i,  t (lied  Northern  Africa  and  Southem 
Atiiii  Mini  Iniopr  Immii  the  \\a\  ot  Hisiay  and  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar  to 
llhnlimtiUi.      Into  tin*  iMily  liisloiy  of  this  people^  there  cnlers  much  oV 

I  I  hf  .Mm  V  )>f  'iniit;  h\  V\\\x.\u\  lv<Mrtt  Hair,  ami  SuMii  I  lair.    New  York:  C  P.  Putnam^ 

Stxii     I  Inlli,  H  vo  ,  |>|i.  4ii;.    #i.sit. 

t  tlti>*<iiii\  I'l  ilir  ^.u.iMMin;  l*v  Aiihiii  <;,  M.  A.     New  York  and  London :  G.F.  Pat». 
It.iin  ••  'm>«w      t  lutli,  K  \i>.,  )-p.  4*m. 


myth  and  fable*;  but,  as  they  were  in  a  degree,  countrymen  of  Abraham, 
their  religion,  in  the  main,  was  like  to  his.  But  while  to  the  direct 
descendants  of  the  Jewish  patriarch  the  acceptance  of  Mohammed  as  a 
prophet  w:is  impossible,  his  kindred  went  so  far  astray  that  even 
Mohammed's  teaching  and  leadership  was  a  benefit.  The  various  tribes 
and  nations  which  became  allied  with  the  Saracens,  though  dwelling  in 
widely  distant  regions,  were  so  generally  alike  in  their  habits  of  life  and 
consequently  in  their  modes  of  thought  that  the  religion  of  Islam  was 
easily  and  at  length  heartily  adopted  by  them.  It  proved  a  cord  that 
efibctively  bound  together  the  tribes  of  only  a  greater  or  less  degree  of 
barbarism  which  came  within  its  territorial  scope,  giving  them  the 
power  and  purpose  of  conquest  in  the  several  directions  whither  their 
cupidity  led  or  their  fanaticism  urged  them.  It  seems  scarcely  necessary 
to  say  that  wherever  ^Mohammedanism  became  the  religion  of  a  people, 
if  they  were  barbarians  before,  barbarians  they  remained. — except  as 
the  protection  of  enhanced  national  power  gave  the  communities  a 
greater  stability,  tluis  coritributinj^  to  an  increase  of  wealth,  which,  by 
a  tendency  which  is  universal,  found  expression  in  better  architectural 
constructions,  with  some  extension  of  mechanical  skill,  the  development 
of  learning,  and  the  clifiusion  of  luxury  ;  but  no  people  who  adopted  it 
were  ever  raised  tiiereby  above  the  grade  of  semi-civilization.  The 
lives  of  the  ^loslem  leaders,  specially  that  of  their  prophet,  furnish 
manv  incidents  of  strikin<^  interest,  and  the  history  of  the  wars  of  Islam 
from  the  days  of  Augustus  Cajsar  to  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors  from 
Spain,  is  full  of  stirring  episodes. —  all  the  more  impressive  from  the 
crueltv  which  was  always  a  visible  element  in  their  conduct.  The 
pastoral  and  predatory  Arab,  the  skilful,  commercial  and  withal  luxu- 
rious Persian,  each  have  their  place  in  this  history, —  which,  however, 
is  unsatisfactory,  from  its  ending  with  the  fall  of  Bagdad, —  omitting 
altogether  the  period  of  the  Crusades  and  the  Moorish  occupation  of 
Spain.  Mr.  Oilman  must  perceive  that  another  volume  is  demanded  to 
complete  the  ''  Story." 

*  * 

There  is  much  food  for  thought  and  also  means  of  spiritual  uplifting 
to  be  found  in  the  small  but  elegant  monthly  magazine,  '"  The  Christian 
Science  Journal,"  * —  the  organ  of  the  new^  religious  sect  known  as  the 
Christian  Scientists.  The  editor.  Rev.  William  I.  Gill,  A.  M.,  is  a 
clear  thinker,  an  able  and  interesting  writer,  and  a  careful  editor;  and 
no  doubt  the  fraternity  which  this  publication  represents  gain  much  bv 
his  verv  elficient  services. 

I  The  Christian  Science  Journal.  Boston,  Mass. ;  Christian  Science  Piiblisiiing  Co.    $1.00  a  year; 
single  numbers,  10  cents. 


,  Philosophy,  not  theology  and  religion,  was  the  incentive  and  quest  of 
the  author  of  the  neat  and  convenient  i6mo.  volume  on  Philosophical 
Realism.^  The  work  briefly  but  searchingly  reviews  former  meta- 
physical and  philosophical  systems,  including  those  of  Darwin  and 
Spencer.  The  system  as  here  set  forth,  has  no  affinity  with  scepticism. 
The  work  is  not  mainly  negative,  but  effectively  constructive,  while  the 
treatment  of  the  topics  appears  to  be  just  and  in  remarkable  good 
temper.  The  work  is  notable  for  its  exhaustive  mention  of  metaphysi- 
cal and  philosophical  questions,  and  in  this  respect  might  prove  a  con- 
venient hand-book  for  the  studious.  Except  a  few  last  pages  and  some 
late  interpolations,  the  book  was  mainly  written  years  ago,  and  much 
of  it  printed  in  T/te  Index,,  of  Boston,  known  as  one  of  the  most 
philosophical  of  weekly  journals.  The  work,  therefore,  is  not  written 
from  the  point  of  view  of  a  Christian  Scientist  distinctively, — yet  in  the 
view  of  the  author,  his  system  constitutes  the  true  foundation  for  the 
doctrine  of  the  new  sect.  Its  great  object  is  to  show  that  there  is  no 
matter,  except  mortal  thought,  and  that  Mind  is  all.  I  lis  purpose  has 
been  to  "cover  all  the  facts,  and  be  consistent," — modestly  adding, — 
"  Our  little  scheme  may  be  wrong,  though  self-consistent ;  but,  if  not 
self-consistent,  it  is  no  system  at  all,  but  only  an  aggregation,  and  is 
certainly  wrong  somewhere."  The  work  has  of  necessity  required 
very  extended  reading  and  careful  thought  for  many  years,  and  is  thus 
the  product  of  great  labor.  , 


[The  numerals  designate  magazines,  a  list  of  which  is  placed  at  the  close  of  this  index.  The 
date  of  the  magazines  is  that  ofthe  month  preceding  this  issue  of  the  New  England  Maigazine, 
unless  otherwise  stated.] 

Art,  Architecture  How  I  became  an  Artist's  Model.  Charlotte  Adams* 
9.  — The  Book  of  American  Figure  Painters.  G.  P.  Lathrop.  9.  — Contempo- 
rary French  Sculpture  :  Chapu  and  Dubois.  Wm.  C.  Browne/I.  i.  — La  Mere 
Venus.  George  II.  Bougkton^  A,  /?.  A.  2. —  The  Royal  Academy  of  Painting 
and  Sculpture.     Lady  Dilke.     25. 

Biography,  Genealogy.  A  Useful  Clergyman  (Heman  Dyer,  D.D.)  Rev, 
S,  F.  Ilotchkin.  29.  —  Otis  Clapp.  Samuel  II.  Worcester.  24.  —  Henry  Clay, 
Reminiscences  of,  by  his  Executor,  y.  O,  Harrison,  i.  — Abraham  Lincoln. 
A  History.  IL  Lincoln  as  Soldier,  Surveyor,  and  Politician,  yohu  G.  Nicolay 
and  John  Hay.  i. — A  Little  Millerite.  Jane  Marsh  Parker.  i. — The 
Boyhood  of  Christ.  (rcneral  Lev:  Wallace.  2.  —  Salmon  P.  Chase.  Donn 
Piatt.  4.  —  Sir  Samuel  Ferguson.  25.  —  Gustave  Flaubert,  and  George  Sand. 
Mrs.  Arthur  Kennard.  25.  —  Henry  D.  Thorcan.  //.  5.  Salt,  25. —  The 
Brewer  of  Ghent,     yames  Hutton.     25. 

I  Philosophical  Kealism,  by  Rev.  William  I.  Gill,  A.  M.,  Boston,  Mass.  Published  by  thelddex 
Association,  1886.    Cloth,  $1.50;  paper,  85  cts. 


Civil  War.  The  Battle  of  Gettysburg,  II.  —The  Second  Day  of  Gettysburg. 
Gen,  Henry  J,  Hunt.  i.  —  *'  Round  Top  "  and  the  Confederate  Right  at  Gettys- 
burg. Gen.  E.  M,  La'w.  i. — Misunderstandings:  Halleck  and  Grant.  Gen, 
James  B.  Fry.     8. — From  Cedar  Mountain  to  Chantilly,  IV.     Alfred  E.  Lee, 

8.  — My  Campaign  in  East  Kentucky.    James  A,  Garfield.    4.  — Jefferson  Davis 
and  the  Mississippi  Campaign.     Gen.  Joseph  E,  Johnston,     4. 

Description,  Travel,  Adventure.  Up  the  Neva  to  Schliisselburg.  Ed- 
mund Noble.  II. — Ashland,  the  Home  of  Henry  Clay.  Charles  W.  Coleman^ 
Jr.  I.  —  Old  Chelsea,  II.  BenJ.  E,  Afar  tin.  i, — One  New  England  Thanks- 
giving. Mrs.  Martha  J.  Lamb.  6. — Ohio  as  a  Hospitable  Wilderness.  J,  H, 
Kennedy.  6. — Creole  Peculiarities.  P.  F.  de  Gournay,  6. — **The  Swamp 
Angel ;  "  The  Gun  Used  in  Firing  on  Charleston,  in  1863.  William  S.  Stryker, 
Adjt.-Gen.  of  Neiv  Jersey.  6.  — The  Last  Voyage  of  the  Surprise,  VIII.  7.— 
Around  the  World  on  a  Bicycle,  XIV.  Thomas  Stevens.  7.  —  After  Geronimo, 
X.  Lieut.  John  Bigelow,  Jr.,  U.  S.  A.  7. — A  Day's  Fishing  in  Bermuda. 
Charles  E.  Clay.  7.  —  Paddling  in  the  Winnipeg  County.  7.  —  My  Experience 
in  Ballooning.  P.  L.  Sternbergh.  7. — The  Moujiks  and  the  Russian  Democ- 
racy.    By  Stcpniak.     25. 

Education.  "  Newspaperism  "  Reviewed.  Junius  Henri  Browne,  9. — 
Women  as  School  Directors.  M.  W.  Shinn.  10. — The  Writings  of  Laura 
Bridgman.  E.  C.  Sanford.  10. — The  Object  of  a  University.  Elisha  Mul- 
ford.  II. — The  Intellectual  Mission  of  the  Saracens.  Edzvard Hungcrford, 
II.  — The  250th  Anniversary  of  Harvard  College;  The  Oration.  James  Pusseli 
Lowell.  The  Poem.  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes.  11.  —  Moral  Training  in  the 
Public  School.  Supt.  E.  E.  White,  LL.  D.  8. — The  Study  of  American 
Institutions  in  Schools.  Francis  N.  Thorpe,  Ph.  D.  8.  —  Results  of  the  Ger- 
^lan  School  System.  Prof.  John  K.  Lord.  8  — The  Old  South  Historical 
Work.  Edwin  D.  Mead.  8. — The  Teaching  of  Civics  in  the  Schools.  C.  F, 
Crehore,  M.  D,  8.  —  Educational  Methods.  George  Sand.  4.  —  Education 
Abroad      Abstract  of  Report  of  Commissioner  of  Education,     27. 

History.  The  Old  South  Historical  Work.  Edwin  D.  Mead,  8.— One 
New  England  Thanksgiving.  Mrs.  Martha  J.  Lamb.  6. — Ohio  as  a  Hospit- 
able Wilderness.     J.  H.  Kennedy.     6. —  The  Brewer  of  Ghent.     James  Hutton, 


Literature.  My  Literary  Experiences.  John  Habberton,  9.  —  Mental 
Obliquity.  Grace  H.  Peirce.  9.  —  ''  Newspaperism  "  Reviewed.  Junius  Henri 
Browne.  9.  —  How  to  Choose  a  Library.  9.  —  The  Writings  of  Laura  Bridg- 
man. E.  C.  Sanford.  10. — The  Works  of  Thomas  Middleton.  10. — The 
Church  of  England  Novel.  Harriet  W.  Preston.  11. — The  Intellectual  Mis- 
sion of  the  Saracens.  Edward  Hungcrford.  11.  —  William  Shakspeare*8 
Literary  Executor.  Appleton  Morgan.  6. — Sir  Samuel  Ferguson.  25.  Gu8- 
tave  Flaubert  and  George  Sand.  Mrs.  Arthur  Kennard.  25.  Henry  D.  Thor- 
can.     H.  S  Salt.      25.  —  Chaucer  and  Bocaccio.     E.  M,    Gierke,     25.  —  The 

Eve  of  Venus.  By  the  Earl  of  Lytton. ^The  Deuschman's  Had.    A  Legend  of 

Shetland.     25. 

Miscellaneous.     The  Presidents  as  Gastronomers.      Frank  G.  Carpenter, 

9.  —  My   Literary   Experiences.     John   Habberton,      9. — Creole  Peculiarities. 
P.  F.  de  Gourtiay.     6. 

Politics,  Economics,  Public  Affairs.  The  Beet-Sugar  Industry  in  Cali- 
fornia. E.  W.  Hil^ard.  lo-  —  The  Land  System  of  the  New  England 
Colonies.  Melville  Eglcston.  28.  —  Five  Questions  in  Socialism.  Rev.  B.  E, 
Warner.  29. — The  Dream  of  Russia.  Cyrus  Hamlin.  11. — Mazzini.  Maria 
Louise  Henry.  11. — The  Intellectual  Mission  of  the  Saracens.  Edward 
Hungcrford.  11.  —  How  Can  the  Church  best  Help  the  Old.'*  Pczk  John  God' 
dard.  24.  — Moral  Training  in  the  Public  School.  Supt.  E.  E.  White,  LL.  D. 
8.  —  The  Study  of  American  Institutions  in  Schools.  Francis  N.  Thorpe, 
Ph.D.  8. — Results  of  the  German  School  System.  Prof.  John  K.  Lord. 
8.  — The  Teaching  of  Civics  in  the  Schools.  C  F,  Crehore,  M.  D.  8.  — The 
Food  Qiiestion  in  America  and  Europe.  Edward  Atkinson,  i.  —  Labor  and 
Condensed  Labor.  Pierre  Lorillard.  4. — Lessons  of  the  New  York  Elec- 
tions; A  Symposium.  *'^  Republican,"  Rev.  Edward  Mc Glynn,  D.  D.,  and 
.S.  5.  Cox!   4.  —  Letters   to   Prominent   Persons,   No.  5.  —  To  the   President 



Arthut  Rirkmond.     4. — Recent  Reforms  in  Balloting.  Allen  Tkorndike  Rict.  4. 

—  Mralth  of  the  ('.  S.  \rTT\y.      Bcnj.  I*\  Pope,  Maj.  and  Surgeom  U.  S.  A.      27. 

—  TheKiiU'ra  of   the   Balkan^.     25. — Economic   Socialism.     Professor  Sidg^ 
ivit  k.     2^.  —  Dcmorrary  and  TaRtc.     25.  —  Europe  r$.  England.     25. 

Rf.<rkation',    Sports.       Possible    Excess    of   Amu«-ements.       Rev.    T.   F. 
Wrifrht.     24.  —  Ptniliarifirs  ofChesH  Players.     Henry  ^lhadv:ick.     7. 

KriJoioN,  Morals.  Mental  Obliquity.  drare  IJ.  Pierce.  9. — "Xcw»- 
paprri«<Tn"  Reviewed.  yuniu.t //rttri /Jro-vnc.  <j.  —  C  hristmaf.  wiih  Christ. 
lihhop  A.  (I.  ('oxe.  2*j. — The  Sign ifira nee  of  the  Nativity.  T.  B.  Hayward, 
24.  —  Public  Worship.  licv.  yavtcs  Rr.rd.  24.  —  Moral  Teaching  from  the 
Bible.  Rrv.  John  Worcr.ster.  24. — Possible  Excess  of  Amusements.  Rev,  7*. 
P\  M' right.  24.  —  I  low  Can  the  Church  best  Help  the  01d.>  Rev.  John  God- 
da  rd.  24 .  —  A  IJ  r  1 1  c  M  i  lie  ri  te .  Jane  Ma  rsh  Pa  rite  r.  i .  —  The  Boyhood  of 
Chri««t.  Gen.  J.rvj  Wallace,  2.  —  Heathendom  and  Christendom.  Gait 
Hamilton.     4. -- Mormon  Blood  Atonement.     Joseph  A.   West,     4. 

S(  iK.vcK,  Nat  i:ral  History,  Discovi.ry,  Inventions.  The  Presidents  a» 
Gnstronriinrrs.  l-'rank  (i.  Carpenter.  9  — The  Writings  of  Laura  Bridgman. 
E.  (I.  Sanford.  10.-  Our  I'VirestK.  Ahludt  Kinney.  10 — Meteorology  in  the 
Tnitrd  Slatrs.  A.  Tnlman  Smith.  8. — Wood  Notes.  Wm.  II.  Gibson.  2-— 
My  I'^xptTiciirc  in  Itallooning.  /-*.  L.  Sternbergh.  7.  —  The  Museum  of  Hv- 
gcinc.  7\  J.  Turner,  Mcdiral  Director  U.  .V.  Navy.  27.  —  Health  of  the  tJ. 
S.  Army.  lien j.  1.  Pope  ^  Maj.  wwd  Surgeon  U.  S.A.  27. — Sewage  Utiliza- 
tion by  lrri;;alion.  Dr.  Alfred  ('arpenter.  27. — The  Utilization  of  Garbage. 
7'h(t.%,  I).  Ml  Ellterrie.  27.  —  Should  Dwelling  Houses  be  Plumbed?  J.  C. 
IUtyle!t^  <:.  K.  27. —The  Analyst  and  his  Deeds.  27. — The  Gastronomic 
Value  of  Odors,     Henry  7'.  Fric'k,     25. 

SorinrofiY.     Social  Lim:.     Will  Culture  outgrow  Christianity.^    25. — Our* 
rjrandniollHTK.      lly   the    Countess   of  Jersey.      25.  —  Spookical    Research.     25. 
JCcononiic  ScK-i;iliKui.     Professor  Shlgzvich.     25. — Democracy  and  Taste.     25. 

—  Tlir  rhilosnpliy  dI'  Dancing.     25 

Tiii:cn.o<.v,  P<ii.r:.Mics.   The  Significance  of  the  Nativity.  T.  B.  Hayward.  24. 

1    The  Century.  I'l  Xt-iv  Priturton  Re^'icw. 

'1  Untf-t-t's  ylaf^rtziftr.  !<•  The  lirtH^klyn  Rtrtgazinc. 

.'t  Antti'7tr  /iVr/iTf.  17  The  Sotit/wrn  lih'ouac. 

4  Xi'tffi  Anii-n'din  tCrrrrii'.  \X  Thr  Citizen. 

n  f't>f'n,\ir  St  i'Nt  I'  A/.'n/A,'y.  1!»  J'o/itiitj/  Si  iettcr  Quarterly. 

•»  MtH'i'/nr  o/'  A  wen,  an  Histpty.  liO  {'nitarian  Re^'ieiv. 

T  Outnifi.  lil    The  New  F.uj^Uinder. 

R  /•'tinnttinn.  '.?-   The  Mtif^ai^ine  of  Art. 

1»  l.if>fnt,ott'x  M,ijin:.itte,  2.M  .\  »-:f'  ]■  tn^Irtud  Moji^zinc. 

10  (h'ttUiud  Mi'utht'v.  *•*  A".  :i'  ^ertmtietti  Slagazinf. 

11  Ati'tniti.    ,Vrntli,'v.  -•'>   /''•/■  J'./ei/ii.  .Magazine. 
\2  .\Vji'  A»/j(;/ii».i/  Ifistt^rua!  etnd      2C»  I  ihrary  Xntts. 

A't  J.  / .« ^  / .  'J  7    / "//  e  Sa  n  ita  rian. 

13  Rkcde  /■  'au,i  //i.\trri,at  Maji^ai.ine.  I'H  7f»/;w  llef^kins  I'niT-ersity  StuJitt^ 

14  The  J-i^ruw.  'J'J  J  he  <  hur.h  Moj;a:,inf. 

New  England  Magazine 


Vol.  V.  No.  4- 

February,   1887. 

Whole  No.  28. 


The  Rev.  John  Cotton. 


In  December,  1885,  occurred  the  ter- 
centenary of  the  birth  of  the  Rev.  John 
Cotton,  the  "Father  of  Boston,"'  as  he  is 
called,  who,  with  John  Winthrop,  first 
governor  of  the  Province  of  Massachusetts 
Bay,  laid  deep  and  strong  the  foundation 
upon  which  has  been  built  the  great  and 
powerful  Commonwealth  of  Massachu- 

The  Rev.  John  Cotton  was  born  in 
Derby,  England,  on  Dec.  4.  1585.  The 
family  of  Cotton  has  been  one  of  impor- 
tance in  the  county  of  Cambridge  for 
many  generations,  several  of  them  being 
of  knightly  rank,  while  the  senior  line  was,  in  1641,  raised 
to  the  dignity  of  baronet.  In  Cole's  Mss.  in  the  British  Mu- 
seum, vol.  I.,  pp.  237-345.  there  is  an  account  of  the  family, 
prepared  in  1763. 

It  is  held  most  probable  that  the  family  derived  its  name  from 
Cotton  in  Kent,  but  was  settled  in  Cambridgeshire  in  1374, 
when  Sir  Henry  Cotton  married  Anne,  daughter  and  heiress  of 
Sir  Henry  L.  Fleming,  The  grandson  of  Sir  Henry  married 
Alice,  daughter  and  heiress  of  Sir  John  de  Hastings,   of  Land- 


wade,  county  Cambridge,  which  manor  became  the  chief  seat 
of  the  Cottons.  These  were  direct  ancestors  of  the  Rev.  John 
Cotton,  One  of  this  family,  Sir  John  Cntton,  Bart.,  was  dis- 
tinguished for  his  loyalty  to  King  Charles  I. ;  another  was  Ad- 
miral Sir  Charles  Cotton. 

The  armorial  bearings  of  Mr,  Cotton's  family  are:  Sable,  a 
chevron  between  three  griffins'  heads,  erased,  argent ;  the  crest, 
a  griffin's  head  erased.  Great  revenues  as  well  as  gentle  blood, 
descended  in  the  line  of  this  family,  but  the  estate  was  lost 
through  fraud.  In  the  Magnalia,  Cotton  Mather  writes  of  Mr. 
Cotton:     "His  immediate  progenitors  being  by  some  injustice 

deprived  of  great  revenues,  his  father,  Mr.  Rowland  Cotton, 
had  the  education  of  a  lawyer  bestowed  by  his  friends  upon 
him,  in  hopes  of  his  being  the  better  capacitated  thereby  to 
recover  the  estate,  whereof  his  family  had  been  wronged,  and 
so  the  profession  of  a  lawyer  was  that  unto  which  this  gentle- 
man applied  himself  all  his  days."  [  Fi'rfc  Life  of  Mr,  Cotton, 
by  Cotton  Mather,  in  his  Magnalia,  vol.  I,,  p.  232,  Hartford  ed. 

At  the  age  of  twelve  years  Mr,  Cotton  was  admitted  to  Trin- 
ity College  in  the  University  of  Cambridge,  and  at  eighteen  he 
received  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts.      He   soon   attained  the 


positions  of  Fellow,  Head  Lecturer,  Dean,  and  Catechist  of 
Emmanuel  College,  Cambridge,  —  offices  of  great  honor  and 
responsibility.  His  Latin  oration  and  university  sermon  at- 
tracted great  numbers  of  literati,  as  his  Latinity  was  of  the 
purest.  His  connection  with  the  university  continued  fifteen 
years.  In  161 2  he  was  called  by  the  Mayor  and  Council  of 
Boston  to  become  the  Vicar  of  the  noble  and  venerable  church 
dedicated  to  St.  Botolph,  the  parish  church  of  Boston,  in  Lin- 
colnshire, of  which  church  he  was  Vicar  from  1612  to  1633,  a 
period  of  twenty-one  years. 

The  Church  of  St.  Botolph  was  erected  A.D.  1309,  and  is 
the  largest  without  aisles  in  the  realm  of  England,  and  the 
largest  without  transepts  in  all  Europe, — its  length  being  291 
feet,  and  its  breadth,  99  feet.  The  tower  is  291  feet  in  height, 
resembling  that  of  the  great  Cathedral  at  Antwerp,  and  forms  a 
landmark  for  a  distance  of  forty  miles.  The  extreme  length  of 
the  building  corresponds  with  the  extreme  height,  291  feet. 
The  tower  has  365  steps,  the  windows  number  fifty-two,  the 
pillars  (in  the  interior)  are  twelve  —  corresponding  with  the 
days,  weeks,  and  months  of  the  year. 

Mr.  Drake,  in  his  "  Histe«y  and  Antiquities  of  the  City  of 
Boston,"  Mass.,  quoting  from  the  ^^ Magna  Brittanica  Antiqua 
ct  Nova,''  tells  us  that  this  church,  as  there  described  (in  1720), 
'*  was  beautiful  and  large,  the  tower  of  which  is  so  very  high  as 
to  be  the  wonder  of  travellers,  and  the  guide  for  mariners  at  a 
great  distance.  It  is  looked  upon  as  the  finest  in  England." 
'*  At  the  summit  of  this  tower  is  a  beautiful  lantern,  for  a  guide 
to  seamen,  which  can  be  seen  forty  miles.  It  was  a  figurative 
saying  of  some  of  the  Pilgrims  who  settled  this  Boston,  that  the 
lamp  in  the  lantern  of  St.  Botolph's  ceased  to  burn  when  Cotton 
left  that  church  to  become  a  shining  light  in  the  wilderness  of 
New  England." 

The  chapel  attached  to  St.  Botolph's  Church  (forty  by 
eighteen  feet  in  ground  dimensions)  was  repaired  under  the 
direction  of  Mr.  Gilbert  Scott,  F.  S.  A.,  in  1857,  by  some  of  the 
descendants  of  Rev.  John  Cotton  living  in  Boston,  Massachu- 
setts, and  is  now  called  the  Cotton  Chapel.  In  it  is  a  beautiful 
tablet,  bearing  an  inscription  in  Latin  from  the  pen  of  the  late 
Hon.  Edward  Everett. 


The  Rev.  W.  C.  Winslow,  in  a  letter  from  old  Boston,  gives 
a  fine  description  of  the  architecture  of  St.  Botolph's : — *'The 
exterior  of  the  edifice  afl!brds  a  good  example  of  the  thirteenth- 
and  fourteenth-century  style  of  architecture,  which  followed  the 
Norman.  It  is  substantial,  yet  embellished  with  Gothic  tracery 
and  outlines.  Some  of  the  niches  and  other  ornamental  work 
suffered  more  or  less  at  the  hands  of  the  iconoclasts  of  the  revo- 
lution. The  interior  is  imposing,  and  gives  you  a  sense  of 
space  without  mere  size  or  vacancy.  By  the  time  you  have 
passed  the  peal  and  also  the  chime  (the  church  has  both),  and 
stand  upon  the  top  battlements  of  the  tower,  you  think  yourself 
higher  than  three  hundred  feet  in  the  skies." 

The  name,  Boston,  is  derived  from  St.  Botolph,  a  holy  man, 
who  founded  a  monastery  at  a  place  called  Icanhoe,  by  many 
supposed  to  be  Boston,  in  Lincolnshire,  where  after  passing  a 
life  of  great  sanctity  as  abbot,  he  died  June  17,  A.D.  655,  tlie 
day  of  his  commemoration  in  the  English  calendar.  Among 
the  fifty  churches  dedicated  in  his  honor  "  there  was  a  goodly 
ancient  church  and  monastery  of  Blackfriars  erected  in  his 
honor  in  Lincolnshire,  near  to  the  seaside,  which  in  process  of 
time  growing  to  a  fayre  market  towne,  was  called  thereof 
Botolph's  toune,  and  now  by  the  corruption  of  our  language,  is 
vulgarly  knoun  by  the  name  of  Boston." 

The  name  of  Boston  was  given  to  the  embryo  metropolis  of 
New  England  on  the  shores  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  in  honor  of 
Rev.  John  Cotton,  and  to  induce  him  to  become  the  religious 
teacher  of  its  people.  In  Prince's  Chronology,  pp.  315-316 
under  date  of  Sept.  7,  1630,  is  the  following  entry :  —  **  Thus 
this  remarkable  peninsula,  about  two  miles  in  length  and  one 
in  breadth,  in  those  times  appearing  at  high  water  in  the  form 
of  two  islands,  whose  Indian  name  was  Shawmut,  but,  I  sup- 
pose, on  account  of  three  contiguous  hills  appearing  in  a  range 
to  those  at  Charlestown,  by  the  English  first  called  Trimoun- 
tain,  now  receives  the  name  of  Boston,  which  deputy  Governor 
Dudley  says  they  had  before  intended  to  call  the  place  they  first 
resolved  on,  and  Mr.  Hubbard,  that  they  gave  this  name  on  ac- 
count of  Mr.  Cotton,  the  then  famous  Puritan  minister  of  Boston 
in  England,  for  whom  they  had  the  highest  reverence,  and  of 
whose  coming  over  they  were  doubtless  in  some  hopeful  prospect." 


In  1612  Rev.  John  Cotton,  soon  after  becoming  vicar  of  St. 
Botolph's,  married  Miss  Elizabeth  Horrocks,  an  eminently  vir- 
tuous gentlewoman,  and  sister  of  James  Horrocks,  a  famous 
minister  of  Lancashire.  Mrs.  Cotton  died  in  1630  without 
issue.  On  April  25,  1632,  Rev.  John  Cotton  married  an  esti- 
mable widow,  Mrs.  Sarah  Story,  daughter  of  Anthony  Hawk- 
ridge,  Esq.,  and  an  intimate  friend  of  his  former  wife,  '*  who 
was  well  fitted  to  fill  the  place  which  the  death  of  the  other 
had  vacated." 

Mr.  Cotton  having  been  brought  to  the  conviction  that  some 
of  the  ceremonies  of  the  Church  of  England  were  unscriptural, 
and  of  course  that  he  could  no  longer  conform  to  them,  and 
being  warned  that  Letters  Missive  had  been  issued  against  him 
to  bring  him  before  the  Court  of  High  Commission  on  account 
of  his  refusal  to  kneel  at  the  Sacrament  of  the  Holy  Commun- 
ion, he  embarked  for  New  England,  about  the  middle  of  July, 
1633.  To  this  removal  he  had  warmly  been  invited  by  Gov- 
ernor Winthrop  and  others.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  newly 
married  wife,  Thomas  Hooker,  Samuel  Stone,  and  a  number 
of  old  Boston  parishioners,  in  a  vessel  called  the  "  Griffin." 

The  other  ceremonies  of  the  Church  to  which  Mr.  Cotton 
took  exception,  were  the  use  of  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  bap- 
tism, and  the  use  of  the  ring  in  marriage.  These  were  the 
cause  of  his  leaving  his  parish  church. 

What  wonderful  devotion  to  his  convictions  of  duty,  to  relin- 
quish the  noble  Church  of  St.  Botolph,  whose  architecture  may 
justly  be  termed  a  *'  frozen  anthem,"  and  with  "  storied  panes 
that  chasten  down  the  day's  unholy  glare,"  for  the  low  hovel 
with  its  mud  walls  and  roof  covered  with  thatch,  of  the  first 
house  of  worship  in  Boston,  —  and  the  amenities  of  civilization 
for  the  privations  of  the  wilderness  of  the  New  World  1 

The  Griffin  reached  Boston,  New  England,  Sept.  3,  1633, 
after  a  passage  of  seven  weeks.  At  the  time  of  his  arrival 
Mr.  Cotton  was  about  forty-eight  years  of  age.  Within  a  fort- 
night after  his  arrival,  the  magistrates  and  other  leading  men 
designated  him  to  be  Teacher  of  the  First  Church  in  Boston, 
of  which  Rev.  John  Wilson  was  then  pastor.  On  the  tenth  of 
October,  1633,  Mr.  Cotton  was  ordained  as  colleague  of  Mr. 
Wilson,  in  the  capacity  of  teacher,  by  imposition  of  the  hands 


of  Mr.  Wilson  and  his  two  elders.  This  was  intended  (as 
Governor  Winthrop  has  stated  in  respect  to  the  ordination  of 
Mr.  Wilson  under  similar  circumstances),  "  only  as  a  sign  of 
election  and  conBrmation,  and  not  of  any  intent  that  he  should 
renounce  his  ministry  he  received  in  England." 

Mr.  Cotton,  prior  to  his  leaving  England,  upon  being  in- 
formed that  the  people  of  Salem  had  turned  "  Separatists"  (as 
the  followers  of  Robinson  were  then  called),  in  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Skelton,  declares  "  thatalthough  he  respects  the  New  Plymouth 
men  personally,  the  grounds  of  their  movement  do  not  satisfy 
him.*'  This  shows  Mr.  Cotton's  theological  position  at  that  time 
to  have  been  that  of  a  *'  Puritan,"  but  not  of  a  "  Separatist." 

The  influence  of  Mr.  Cotton  was  equally  powerful  in  civil,  as 
in  ecclesiastical  affairs.  We  learn  from  the  pages  of  Cotton 
Mather  and  Hutchinson  that  the  people  of  the  colony  were  dis- 
satisfied with  their  share  of  power 
in  the  government,  and  desired 
the  establishment  of  a  House  of 
Representatives,  for  which  no 
provision  had  been  made  in  the 
charter  of  the  colony.  At  last, 
Mr.  Cotton,  by  invitation  of  the 
authorities,  preached  a  sermon 
upon  the  subject,  by  which  all 
popular  discontent  was  com- 
pletely allayed.  Mrs.  Norton  compares  the  effect  of  the 
sermon  with  that  of  the  speech  of  Menenius  Agrippa  to  the 
people  of  Rome  at  the  time  of  their  secession  to  Mons  Sacer. 
[Liv.  Hist.  lib.  ii.  cap.  32.]  Mr.  Norton  says  that  shortly  after 
this  "the  Court  ....  desired  Mr.  Cotton  to  draw  an 
abstract  of  the  judicial  laws  deHvered  from  God  by  Moses,  so 
far  forth  as  they  were  of  a  moral  (/'.  c,  ol"  perpetual  and  uni- 
versal) equity."     [Norton,  Life  of  Cotton,  p.  22.] 

Mr.  Cotton's  views  of  the  relation  of  the  Church  to  the  State 
appear  in  a  letter  to  Lord  Say  and  Seal  in  1636 :  —  "It  is  very 
suitable  to  God's  all-sufficient  wisdom,  and  to  the  fullness  and 
perfection  of  Holy  Scriptures,  not  only  to  prescribe  perfect  rules 
for  the  right  ordering  of  a  private  man's  soul  to  everlasting 
blessedness  with  himself,  but  also  for  the  right  ordering  of  a 


man's  family ;  yea,  of  the  commonwealth,  too,  so  far  as  both  of 
them  are  subordinate  to  spiritual  ends,  and  yet  avoid  both  the 
Church's  usurpation  upon  civil  jurisdiction,  in  ordine  ad  spirit- 
ualiuy  and  the  Commonwealth's  invasion  upon  ecclesiastical 
administration,  in  ordine  to  civil  peace  and  conformity  to  the 
civil  State.  God's  institutions  (such  as  the  government  of 
Church  and  Commonwealth  be)  may  be  close  and  codrdinate, 
one  to  another,  and  yet  not  confounded."  .  .  .  .  *'  It  is 
better  that  the  Commonwealth  be  fashioned  to  the  setting  forth 
of  God's  house,  which  is  his  Church,  than  to  accommodate  the 
Church  to  the  civil  State,"  [Appendix  to  Hutchinson's  History, 
vol.  i.,  p.  437.] 

Mr.  Hubbard,  in  his  History  of  New  England  [page  182], 
says  (referring  to  Mr.  Cotton)  :  —  "  Such  was  the  authority  he 
had  in  the  hearts  of  the  people,  that  whatever  he  delivered  in 
the  pulpit  was  soon  put  in  an  order  of  Court,  if  of  a  civil,  and 
set  up  as  a  practice  in  the  Church,  if  of  an  ecclesiastical  con- 

Thus  Mr.  Cotton  laid  the  foundations  deep  and  strong  upon 
which  the  superstructure  of  the  powerful  Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts  has  been  built. 

It  was  a  saying  of  Dr.  Increase  Mather's  that  "  both  Bostons 
have  reason  to  honor  his  (Cotton's)  memory,  and  New  England 
Boston  most  of  all,  which  oweth  its  name  and  being  to  him  more 
than  to  any  person  in  the  world." 

Mr.  Cotton  was  not  only  a  theologian  and  statesman,  but  a 
writer  of  great  power ;  more  than  thirty  books  and  pamphlets 
are  still  extant.  In  1643  Mr.  Cotton  received  an  urgent  invita- 
tion from  "  divers  Lords  of  the  Upper  House,  and  from  some 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons,  with  some  ministers,  who 
stood  for  the  independency  of  the  churches,  '  To  attend  the 
Westminster  Assembly  of  Divines,  and  assist  in  their  delibera- 
tions.'"   [Hubbard's  History,  p.  409.] 

The  invitation  was  not  accepted  by  Mr.  Cotton. 

Mr.  Cotton's  last  illness  was  caused  by  exposure  in  crossing 
the  ferry  to  Cambridge,  where  he  went  to  preach  to  the  stu- 
dents. He  spent  the  last  days  of  his  life  in  his  study  preparing 
to  meet  death ;  and,  on  leaving  it  at  night,  he  said  to  his  wife : 
•*  I  shall  go  into  that  room  no  more."    What  wonderful  for- 


titude  thus  calmly  to  meet  the  last  enemy  I  A  short  time  before 
his  death  he  desired  to  be  left  alone  to  engage  in  prayer,  and 
thus,  in  the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  surrendered  his  soul 
into  the  hands  of  his  **  faithful  creator  and  most  merciful  Sav- 

The  djite  of  his  death  is  commonly  given  as  that  of  December 
23,  1652;  yet  the  old  copy  of  the  town  record  (of  which  it  is 
presumed  no  original  has  been  known  for  one  hundred  and 
fifty  years)  has  it  Dec.  15,  1652.  On  December  28th  he*was 
buried,  says  a  historian,  **with  the  most  numerous  concourse  of 
people,  and  most  grievous  lamentation  that  was  ever  known, 
perhaps,  on  the  American  strand."  *'He  was  borne  on  the 
shoulders  of  his  brother  ministers  to  his  last  resting  place,  a 
tomb  of  brick,  in  what  is  called  the  '  chapel  burying  ground.'" 

In  tliis  burying  ground,  connected  with  King's  Chapel,  at 
Ihe  corner  of  Tremont  and  School  streets,  Boston,  Mass.,  on  a 
simple  headstone  of  slate  is  the  following  inscription: 

'*  Here  lies  interred  the  Bodjes  of  the 

Famous,   Reverend,  and  Learned  Pastors 

of  the    P'irst  Church  of  Xt.    in  Boston,  viz.  : 

Mr.  John  Cotton,  Aged  67  Years. 

Died,  December  the  23d,  1652." 

Of  Mr.  Cotton's  personal  appearance,  Cotton  Mather  says, 
**fle  was  of  a  clear,  fair,  sanguine  complexion,  and  like 
David,  of  a  ruddy  countenance.  Fie  was  rather  long  than  tall, 
rather  fat  than  lean,  but  of  a  becoming  mediocrity.  In  his 
younger  years  his  hair  was  brown,  but  in  his  latter  years,  as 
white  as  the  driven  snow.  In  his  countenance  there  was  an 
inexpressible  sort  of  majesty  which  commanded  reverence  from 
all  that  approached  him." 

Mr.  Cotton  was  a  great  scholar,  having  a  profound  knowl- 
edge of  Hebrew,  Greek  and  Latin.  The  latter  he  wrote  and 
spoke  with  great  elegance ;  and  he  was  a  powerful  logician  as 
well  as  linguist. 

The  Kev.  John  Cotton  had  six  children  by  his  second  wife, 

I.  Seaborn,  (so  called  from  the  circumstances  of  his 
hirlh),  born  Aug.   12,  1633;  Minister  of  Hampton,  N.  H.,  in 


1660;  died  April  19  or  20,  1686.  He  was  ancestor  on  the 
maternal  side  of  the  late  Hon.  Caleb  Gushing,  of  Newburyport, 
Mass.  * 

2.  Sarah,  born  Sept.  20,  1635  ;  died  Jan.  20,  1650. 

3.  Elizabeth,  born  Dec.  10,  (16),  1637;  married  Jeremiah 

4.  John,  born  in  Boston,  Mass.,  Mar.  15,  1640;  ordained 
pastor  of  the  church  in  Plymouth,  Mass.,  June  30,  1669;  dis- 
missed, Oct.  18,  1698;  died  at  Charleston,  S.  C,  Sept.  18, 

5.  Maria  or  Mary,  born  Feb.  15,  (16,)  1641,  (1642)  ;  died 
at  Boston,  Mass.,  Apr.  4,  1714;  married  Mar.  6,  1662,  Rev. 
Increase  Mather,  D.D.,  (born  June  21,  1639;   ordained  May 

27,  1669;  president  of  Harvard  College,  1685  — 1701 ;  agent 
of  the  Colony  in  England;  died  Aug.  23,  1723;  tomb  in 
Copp's  Hill).  Mrs.  Mather's  mother  (the  widow  of  the  elder 
Rev.  John  Cotton)  married  Aug.  26,  1656,  Rev.  Richard 
Mather,  of  Dorchester,  (the  father  of  her  son-in-law,  to  whom 
she  became  a  parent  by  a  double  affinity)  ;  died  May  27,  1676. 

6.  Rowland,  born  Dec.  1643  ;  died  Feb.  29,  1650. 

The  son  of  Rev.  John  Cotton,  Jr.,  of  Plymouth,  Rev.  Rou- 
land  Cotton,  was  the  chief  "ornament  and  glory  of  the  Cotton 
family."  He  was  born  in  Plymouth,  Mass.,  Dec.  27,  1667; 
was  minister  at  Sandwich,  Mass.,  where  he  was  ordained  Nov. 

28,  1694.  In  1702,  the  town  gave  to  him  "all  such  drift  whales, 
as  shall  during  the  time  of  his  ministry  in  Sandwich,  be  driven 
or  cast  ashore  within  the  limits  of  the  town,  being  such  as  shall 
not  be  killed  with  hands!"  Rev.  Rouland  married  Sept.  22, 
1692,  Elizabeth,  widow  of  the  Rev.  John  Dennison,  and 
daughter  of  the  Hon.  Nathaniel  Saltonstall  of  Haverhill,  Mass., 
the  famous  judge  of  the  Oyer  and  Terminer  Court,  who  at  the 
risk  of  the  greatest  personal  danger  refused  to  preside  at  the 
trial  of  the  witches.  She  was  sister  of  the  Hon.  Gurdon 
Saltonstall,  Governor  of  Connecticut,  1708  — 1724.  She  was 
born  Sept.  17,  1668,  and  died  July  8,  1726. 

From  a  son  by  this  marriage  (Rev.  John  Cotton),  the 
Hastings  family  of  Cambridge  and  Henry  Hastings,  Esq.,  of 
Medford,  are  descended. 

From   Joanna,   a   daughter   of   Rev.    Rouland   Cotton   and 



Elizabeth  Dennison,  nee  Saltonstull.  born  Aug.  i6,  1691, 
descended  the  family  of  the  late  lion.  William  Gray,  the  great 
merchant  and  a  lieutenant-governor  of  llie  Commonwealth. 

The  family  of  the  Rev.  Phillips  Brooks,  D.D..  Rector  of 
Trinity  Church,  Boston,  also  descended  from  this  lady,  who 
married  Rev.  John  Brown,  of  HaveHiill,  Sept.  17,  1719- 

In  these  days  of  change,  when  so  little  of  what  is  venerable 
remains,  it  may  prove  of  interest  to  mention  an  heirloom  now 
in  the  possession  of  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  late  Henrj'  Gray, 
Esq.,  of  New  York  city  (sec- 
ond son  of  the  late  Lieutenant- 
Governor  William  Gray,  of 
Boston),  which  has  descended 
by  the  same  Christian  name  for 
two  hundred  years.  It  is  a 
"pinning"  blanket,  in  which  to 
wrap  a  child  when  baptized, 
placed  outside  the  ordinary 
clothing.  It  is  of  damask  bro- 
cade, of  a  warm  cherry  color,  with  flowers  and  leaves  in- 
wrought with  silver  thread,  and  lined  with  red  India  silk. 
It  was  presented  by  Madam  Saltousiall,  wife  of  Judge  Nathan- 
iel Saltonslall,  to  her  daughter  Elizabeth,  on  her  marriage  with 
Rev.  Rouland   Cotton. 

The  grandmother  of  Mrs.  Rouland  Cotton  was  Muriel  Gur- 
don,  a  direct  descendant  of  Anne  Planiagenet,  daughter  of 
Thomas  of  Woodstock.  Duke  of  Gloucester,  youngest  son  of 
Edward  III.,  King  of  England.  Muriel  Gurdon  was  therefore 
of  the  blood  royal  of  England.  She  married  Richard  Salton- 
slall, son  of  Sir  Richard  S.,  the  original  patentee  of  Connec- 




:   IN   THE   UNITED 

BV    REV.    GEORGE    W.    SHINN,    D.D. 

That  which  is  known  now  by  the  above  title  was  originally 
known  here  as  The  Church  of  England. 

From  the  year  1607,  when  the  first  permanent  settlement  by 
English  colonists  was  made  at  Jamestown,  Virginia,  down  to 
1785,  when  the  American  Revolution  ended,  all  its  missions, 
chaplaincies  and  parishes  in  the  colonies  were  under  the  juris- 
diction of  the  Bishop  of  London,  and  conformed  to  the  same 
laws  and  requirements  as  the  Church  in  England,  so  far  as 
local  circumstances  would  permit. 

For  nearly  two  hundred  years  it  was  a  colonial  branch  of  the 
English  Church,  but  with  an  incomplete  organizatloD,  for  it 
had  no  Bishops  of  its  own.  Some  of  the  supervisory  duties  of 
the  Episcopate  were  performed  by  Commissaries,  acting  under 
the  authority  of  the  Bishop  of  London,  but  candidates  for  con- 
firmation and  ordination  were  required  to  go  to  England. 

It  has  been  described  as  then  "a  body  without  a  head,  an 
Episcopal  Church  without  an  Episcopate,  with  an  order  of  Con- 
firmation in  its  Prayer  Book  and  no  one  authorized  to  adminis- 
ter the  rite,  an  office  of  Ordination  and  no  one  competent  to 
ordain  either  Priest  or  Deacon,  with  church  edifices  that  could 
not  be  consecrated,  and  a  discipline  that  could  not  be  adminis- 
tered." Numerous  eflbrts  were  made  to  remedy  this  defective 
organization  by  securing  the  Episcopate,  but  without  success 
until  after  the  Revolution. 

There  were  three  reasons  for  the  failure  of  these  early  efforts. 
First  of  all  the  Georgian  period  of  the  English  Church  was  not 
one  of  very  great  earnestness,  then  there  were  many  in  the 
country,  especially  in  New  England,  who  were  bitterly  opposed 
to  the  polity  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  finally  there  were 
few  then  in  either  country  who  could  see  any  way  of  separating 
the  spiritual  functions  of  the  Episcopate  from  temporal   power. 


It  was  generally  thought  that  an  Episcopate  must   involve  a 
State  Church  and  State  patronage. 

Notwithstanding  the  incompleteness  of  its  organization,  and 
the  absence  of  that  careful  supervision  which  is  necessary  to 
correct  abuses,  the  Church  not  only  lived,  but  flourished  in 
some  sections,  especially  in  the  Middle  and  Southern  States. 
It  was  greatly  aided  by  a  missionary  society  formed  in  England 
in  1701,  under  the  name  of  "The  Society  for  the  Propagation 
of  the  Gospel  in  Foreign  Parts."  Through  this  useful  agency 
clergymen  were  sent  here,  books  were  provided,  building  enter- 
prises were  helped,  and  in  many  other  ways  encouragement 
was  offered  those  who  would  labor  for  the  welfare  of  the  settlers 
and  the  natives.  The  instructions  given  their  missionaries  by 
this  Society  showed  its  noble  aims.  They  exhorted  the  clergy 
'*to  promote  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of  men  by 
propagating  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour,  and  that  they 
qualify  themselves  for  this  work  by  seeking  sound  knowledge, 
by  hearty  belief  of  the  Christian  religion,  by  apostolical  zeal, 
by  fervent  charity  for  the  souls  of  men,  and  by  temperance, 
fortitude  and  constancy."  For  over  three-quarters  of  a  century 
this  society  continued  its  benefactions,  keeping  alive  an  interest 
in  religion  in  established  parishes,  and  extending  the  privileges 
of  the  Gospel  to  new  settlements. 

The  American  Revolution  was  almost  a  death  blow  to  the 
Church  of  England  in  these  colonies.  Many  of  its  members 
sided  with  the  mother  country  in  the  struggle,  others  were  at 
first  unwilling  to  sanction  armed  resistance  to  oppressions  which 
they  deprecated,  and  still  others,  hoping  that  the  authorities  in 
England  would  come  to  a  better  mind  and  grant  the  concessions 
asked  for,  held  aloof  from  the  controversies.  The  active  par- 
tizanship  of  some  for  the  side  of  the  king,  and  the  inactivity  of 
those  who  were  not  willing  to  encourage  strife,  brought  the 
Church  into  popular  disrepute  in  most  sections,  and  excited 
bitter  and  unyielding  prejudices. 

Not  all  the  membership  of  this  Church,  however,  sided  with 
the  king,  or  stood  aloof  from  the  colonists  in  the  struggle. 
There  were  many  churchmen  who  comprehended  from  the 
beginning  the  magnitude  of  the  strife,  and  whose  active  sym- 
pathies were  with  the  colonies.     Some  of  them  became  leaders. 


and  it  is  to  one  of  them  that  America  is  forever  indebted  for 
that  sublime  courage  and  faith  which  had  so  much  to  do  with 
the  success  of  the  Revolution  and  the  making  of  a  new  nation. 

George  Washington  was  a  cliurchman.  His  taking  com- 
mand of  the  American  forces  in  the  Revolution  gave  a  broader 
significance  to  the  movement,  and  enabled  it  to  become  not 
merely  a  sectional  revolt,  but  the  springing  into  existence  of  a 
nation  to  achieve  a  destiny,  the  greatness  of  which  no  one  then 
could  foresee. 

The  shaping  of  the  government  of  the  new  nation,  when  the 
struggle  against  England  ended  in  the  independence  of  the 
colonies,  was  largely  aided  by  the  patriot  churchmen  who 
brought  to  the  task  broad  views  and  a  conservative  spirit,  and 
a  determination  to  lay  here  the  most  enduring  foundations  of  a 
government  which  they  trusted  would  become  a  blessing  to  the 

But  notwithstanding  the  patriotism  of  so  many  of  the 
churchmen  of  the  Revolution,  and  the  elTorts  of  those  of  the 
clergy  who  remained  at  their  posts  during  the  long  weary 
years  of  the  war.  the  termination  of  the  strife  found  this  church 
well  nigh  wrecked.  Many  of  its  parishes  had  been  abandoned 
by  priest  and  people,  its  endowments  in  lands  were  in  many 
places  confiscated,  and  the  most  bitter  hatred  toward  it  was 
manifested  by  large  numbers  of  the  people.  It  was  thought  by 
some  that  the  fires  of  the  Revolution  had  compietelj'  comsumed 
nearly  all  traces  of  the  English  Church  in  this  country  and  had 
rendered  it  impossible  that  it  should  ever  rise  from  the  ashes. 

The  indications  of  life  were  feeble  indeed.  The  first  move- 
ment was  made  in  Connecticut.  As  early  as  1783  the  clergy 
there  assembled  at  Waterbury,  and  elected  Dr.  Samuel  Sea- 
bury,  Bishop  of  Connecticut,  and  instructed  him  to  go  to  Eng- 
land and  seek  for  consecration  at  the  hands  of  the  English 
Bishops.  Failing  in  this  he  was  to  go  to  Scotland  to  secure 
the  Episcopate  from  the  non-juring  Bishops  resident  in  that 

The  English  bishops  being  hampered  by  the  then  existing 
laws,  and  for  other  reasons,  declined ;  and  so  the  succession 
was  first  secured  through  the  Scotch  bishops  A  few  years 
later,  however,  some  special  legislation  having   been  obtained. 


absolving  the  candidates  from  the  necessity  of  taking  the  oath 
of  allegiance  to  England ;  and  the  English  Church  having  been 
convinced  that  no  changes  from  the  standards  would  be  made 
by  the  American  Church  in  matters  of  doctrine,  Drs.  Whitti 
and  Provoost  were  consecrated  Bishops,  the  former  for  Pennsyl- 
vania and  the  latter  for  New  York. 

The  date  of  this  important  event  is  1787.  One  of  the  first 
efforts  to  adapt  the  church  to  the  new  condition  of  things  in  this 
country  was  the  putting  forth  of  a  revision  of  the  English 
Prayer  Book.  It  was  called  "The  Proposed  Book."  It  did 
not  meet  with  much  favor,  because  of  the  radical  nature  of  some 
of  the  changes  made,  and  because  of  various  omissions.  It  was 
quickly  discarded,  and  the  present  Book  of  Common  Prayer 
was  adopted  in  1789.  This  is  a  slight  revision  of  the  English 
book,  with  some  omissions  and  some  additions.  The  revisers 
distinctly  assert  in  the  preface  that  this  church  is  far  from  in- 
tending to  depart  from  the  Church  of  England  in  any  essential 
point  of  doctrine,  discipline,  or  worship,  or  further  than  local 
circumstances  require. 

The  importance  of  this  declaration  is  seen  when  it  is  remem- 
bered what  pressure  was  brought  upon  the  revisers  to  make  de- 
partures from  some  very  important  principles  which  it  had  re- 
ceived by  inheritance  from  the  Apostolic  Church,  of  which  it  is 
a  descendent.  There  were  those  who  wanted  to  see  the  church 
become  Socinian  instead  of  clinging  firmly  to  the  doctrine  of 
the  Trinity.  Others  would  have  had  it  ignore  the  Apostolic 
Succession,  and  still  others  in  their  ignorance  of  the  cardinal 
principles  of  primitive  Christianity,  and  the  usages  of  the  Apos- 
tolic Church,  urged  other  changes. 

The  leading  churchmen  here  were,  however,  learned  in  theol- 
ogy, and  firm  believers  in  the  ancient  polity  and  usages,  and  so 
the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  remained  in  the  line  of  descent. 
It  did  not  break  away  from  the  succession  which  reaches  back 
through  the  English  Church  to  the  ancient  British  Church,  and 
still  back  to  the  very  days  of  the  Apostles.  It  claims  to  be, 
therefore,  a  true  branch  of  the  historic  church,  preserving  the 
Evangelic  Faith  and  Apostolic  Order,  holding  "the  Faith  once 
delivered  to  the  saints,"  and  clinging  to  principles  and  usages 
which  have  been  from  the  very  beginning  of  Christianity. 


For  nearly  fifty  years  after  the  Revolution  the  growth  of 
"  The  Episcopal  Church,"  as  it  was  generally  called,  was  very 
stow  and  in  the  face  of  many  and  bitter  prejudices.  Its  English 
origin  was  for  a  long  while  sufficient  to  repel  some  from  it, 
while  the  use  of  precomposed  forms  of  worship,  the  observance 
of  the  festivals  and  fasts  of  the  ecclesiastical  year,  the  archi- 
tecture and  adornment  of  its  houses  of  worship,  and  its  quiet 
methods  of  work,  caused  many  to  hold  aloof.  It  was  accused 
of  being  "  only  half  reformed,"  of  being  "  very  much  like  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church,"  of  being  "out  of  sympathy  with 
republican  institutions."  of  "lacking  kindly  interest  in  other 
bodies  of  Christians,"  and  of"  encouraging  formalism." 

The  prejudices  were  so  numerous  and  so  bitter  that  many 
e.\cellent  people  regarded  this  Church  as  a  disturbing  element, 
and  others  looked  confidently  forward  to  the  lime  when  it  would 
become  an  insignificant  factor  in  American  life. 

It  is  but  fair  to  refer  to  these  prejudices,  for  unless  they  are 
taken  into  account  its  present  condition  in  the  United  States 
cannot  be  understood.  Struggling  for  existence,  battling  with 
misconceptions,  it  finally  won  its  way,  and  demonstrated  not 
only  a  right  to  live,  but  also  that  i(  has  a  most  important  part  to 
lake  in  the  moulding  and  uplifting  of  the  American  people. 

And  while  it  is  true  that  prejudices  still  exist,  and  its  polity 
and  principles  are  still  combattcd.  and  while  its  membership  is 
less  than  some  other  bodies  of  Christians,  no  one  can  deny  the 
influence  for  good  it  is  exerting,  or  the  strong  hold  it  has  upon 
the  affections  of  thousands,  or  the  vigorous  life  manifested,  or 
the  wide-reaching  power  it  shows  in  defence  of  Gospel  truth 
and  in  applying  its  teachings  to  the  consciences  and  lives  of 

Very  much  of  the  history  of  the  American  Church  from  1789 
to  about  1821  may  be  summed  up  under  the  two  ht::adings, 
"Recuperation,"  and  "Consolidation,"  —  the  slow  recovery 
from  previous  disintegration  and  the  gradual  gaining  of  strength. 
About  sixty  years  ago  there  began  to  be  the  stir  of  more  vigor- 
ous life,  and  hence  a  disposition  to  engage  in  more  aggressive 
work.  The  period  for  apologizing  for  existence  seemed  to  have 
about  ended,  and  a  zeal  for  church  extension  at  home  and 
abroad  began  to  grow.     A  missionary  society  was  organized. 


and  missions  were  soon  established  in  Africa,  in   Greece,  in 
China,  and  in  the  Western  parts  of  this  country. 

The  interest  thus  awakened,  led  to  the  broadening  of  the 
foundation  of  the  missionary  society,  until  in  1835  ^^  princi- 
ple was  adopted  that  *•  The  Church,  as  the  Church,  is  the  great 
Missionary  Society.  The  duty  of  supporting  it  in  preaching 
the  Gospel  to  every  creature  is  one  that  rests  on  every  Chris- 
tian in  the  terms  of  his  baptismal  vows." 

To  recount  the  story  of  progress  since  that  date,  would  re- 
quire one  to  follow  the  opening  up  of  the  new  settlements  in 
the  West,  as  the  missionaries  have  followed  the  waves  of  emi- 
gration over  the  prairies  to  the  mountains,  and  then  onward  to 
the  Pacific ;  would  make  it  necessary  to  tell  of  heroic  efforts  in 
the  tropics,  and  among  strange  peoples;  and  of  stretching  out 
helping  hands  to  the  freedmen  and  the  Indians  of  our  own 

While  thus  extending  its  borders,  it  has  grown  steadily 
stronger  in  the  old  centres,  so  that  in  some  of  the  cities  it 
stands  among  the  foremost  in  the  number  of  its  parishes  and 
ministers,  in  the  aggregate  of  its  gifts  for  religious  and  benev- 
olent purposes,  and  in  the  variety  and  vigor  of  its  appliances 
for  reaching  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men. 

The  statistics  for  1886  show  that  it  has  now  a  list  of  3*767 
ministers  and  missionaries,  4,732  parishes  and  mission  stations, 
418,329  communicants,  and  over  one  and  a  half  millions  of 
adherents.  Their  contributions  exceeded  eleven  millions  of 
dollars  last  year.  In  a  discourse  delivered  a  few  years  ago  by 
Bivshop  Clark  the  following  sentences  occur :  — 

"Of  late  years  our  Church  has  begun  to  recognize  the  fact 
that  the  sphere  in  which  it  is  called  to  work  is  bounded  by 
nothing  but  the  necessities  of  the  race  to  which  we  belong.  In 
the  establishment  of  hospitals  and  homes  of  all  sorts  for  the 
destitute,  reading  rooms  and  places  of  wholesome  resort  for  the 
floating  population,  and  free  churches  for  all  classes  and  con- 
ditions of  men,  I  think  it  may  be  said  without  vain  boasting 
that  the  Episcopal  Church  has  taken  the  lead." 

It  is  not  claimed  that  it  has  become  popular,  nor  that  it  has 
yet  taken  a  very  strong  hold  of  the  masses  of  the  American 
people.     Its  conservative  character,  its  quiet  and  orderly  meth- 


ods,  and  some  features  which  differentiate  it  from  other  religious 
bodies,  prevent  its  rapid  growth  in  communities  accustomed 
to  other  systems.  It  has  to  win  its  way  often  by  the  overcom- 
ing of  objections  and  always  by  giving  special  instruction  as  to 
its  system  and  aims.  Its  theory  is  that  religion  is  not  a  tran- 
sient emotion,  but  the  development  of  character. 

While  it  preaches  a  Gospel  of  Tree  salvation,  it  claims  that 
they  who  accept  the  Gospel  should  thenceforth  glorify  God  in 
their  souls  and  bodies.  While  it  emphasizes  the  responsibility 
of  the  individual,  it  makes  much  of  church  membership,  and 
encourages  the  large  use  of  the  public  means  of  grace.  And, 
while  it  would  meet  present  modern  needs,  it  regards  itself  as  a 
witness  and  keeper  of  the  truth  it  has  received  from  the  past  for 
the  future.  Believing  itself  to  be  a  branch  of  the  historic 
Church,  it  would  be  a  custodian  of  changeless  principles,  and 
the  conservator  of  ordinances  and  usages  which  are  of  perma- 
nent usefulness. 

It  is  this  belief  which  has  led  many  of  its  members  to  hope 
that  the  Episcopal  Church  may  become  a  bond  of  union  be- 
tween the  scattered  members  of  the  flock  of  Christ,  and  be  a 
centre  for  that  Christian  unity  for  which  so  many  Christian  peo- 
ple are  laboring  and  praying.  It  was  this  belief  which  led  to 
a  declaration  recently  made  by  its  Bishops,  which  contains  the 
first  definite  propositions  ever  presented  for  the  consideration  of 
the  different  communions  in  this  land.  The  bishops,  after 
speaking  of  the  evils  of  division,  set  forth  the  following  points 
as  in  their  view  essential  to  the  restoration  of  unity  among  the 
different  branches  of  Christendom. 

I.  The  Holj'  Scriptures  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments  as 
the  revealed  Word  of  God. 

II.  The  Nicene  Creed  as  the  sufficient  statement  of  Chris- 
tian Faith. 

III.  The  two  Sacraments  —  Baptism  and  the  Supper  of  the 
Lord  —  ministered  with  the  unfailing  use  of  Christ's  words  of 
institution  and  of  the  elements  ordained  by  Him. 

IV.  The  historic  Episcopate  locally  adapted  in  the  methods 
of  its  administration  to  the  varying  needs  of  the  nations  and 
peoples  called  of  God  into  the  unity  of  His  Church. 

These  four  propositions  have  ilie  merit  of  being  simple  and 


dennite,  but  to  guard  against  misapprehension  of  their 
in  making  them,  the  bish-jps  declare  their  belief  that  aH  who 
have  been  duiv  baodzcd  wi:h  water  in  the  name  of  the  Father, 
:.-ic  Son,  and  the  Hoiv  Gh-'.-s:.  are  aireadv  members  of  the  HoIt 

»  m  rt 

Catholic  Church  :  that  v:\\<  Episc»:)pai  Church  is  ready  to  tbrega 
all  preferences  oi  its  o^n  in  any  modes  of  worship  and  disci- 
pline which  have  a  human  •■.■rdering  or  choice;  and  that  this 
Church  does  not  seek  to  absi-rb  other  communions,  but 
codneradii:^  wi:n  mem  en  the  basis  of  a  common  faith 
■jrder  :.j  di-icounrenancc  schism,  to  heal  the  wounds  of  the 
Bc'dy  ■:■[' Christ,  and  tto  promote  the  charity  which  is  the  chief  of 
Christian  ;^^races.  and  the  v::jible  manifestation  of  Christ  to  the 

This  imp'jrtan:  docTimer.:  will  doubtless  do  much  not  only  tor 
•.";.-  cause  ^-/,  C-"-rist:j.n  un::y,  but  also  tj  explain  the  broad  aad 
_*  character  ■::'  :he  Eciscoi^ai  Church,  and  to  remove 
-•: mti  p'irular  :r.:.^apcT^:i±r.'r::n^.  Whereas  i:  has  been  th^xigfec 
I:;,  "j.-.zie  :.:>  be  eXv:^-.-:'^.r:.  j^z^i,  :.j  unchurch  uiose  not  baptized 
:r.::  ii-?  rr-embrrrshir .  ::  ii  :.ere  dccLired  tha:  all  are  members  o« 
:;.^:  \l',\'j  KL':rl:.\\z  Church  T^h:-  have  received  Christian  baj>- 
v.-m.  V/htr±a.^  ::  hj^s  reer,  :h:u:^h:  wedded  to  unchangnig 
'.'".rmi  ar.i  usa^r-rs  in  public  worship,  i:  :5  here  seen  that  there  £* 
a  rci.iir.ris  ::■  ziike  m-idifications  to  su::  existing  needs:  and 
'*'  i:  has  b-rTer.  -urposed  tha:  i*jr  policy  was  one  of  simple 
j.2-?.:rT::'r.  ■::'  -ither  b«:d:cs.  i:  is  disti'czlv  avowed  here  that  this 
:?  r. ::  :.'.c  ca.'^e-  T.i-r  imrlicaiion  is  :ha:  :here  can  be  Christian 
ur.::v  -.^::h  manv  divert. "ies  c:  u.5a::e  ar.d  adniinistradoa- 

Tht  r:i?:s  : :'u:::r/  fu^-^'rsttrd  ifer^  n:-  :ie-Aly  devised  tescs^oo 
-n :  d  r  n.  :. :  r.  r  ess  i :  -  ■•: :'  fi  i :.". .  a  -  d  n :  h  u  milia::ng  recanuado  a-  It 
-e:s  fin",  as  es^entiil  :he  recepu:»  :f  i-,e  Sacred  Scriptttres, 
■..\±  oli  creed  of  iie  earlv  Church,  Lie  ^acramen-s  of  Chffists 
:wn  app-i-intme-:::,  and  ihe  P':ll".y  which  existed  in  apoistolic 

If  Christian  'c::1t^  is  thcazh:  bv  anv  one  to  be  desirable^  licne^ 
i:  list,  is  a  5-ggest:>n  of  a  basis  upon  which  it  may  be  ooo* 

Tha:  the  Episcopal  Church  is  not  prestimptaoos  in  poiaii^ 

:':rth  \rlsi  declaradon  is  evident  when   arendcn  is  direcced  Id 

he  infuence  it  has  exerted  u?:n  other  reli^oos  bodies  in 


country  in  various  ways,  which  are  now  matters  of  history. 

For  example  :  —  At  one  time  it  was  peculiar  among  the  Pro- 
testant bodies  in  the  observance  of  the  seasons  of  the  ecclesias- 
tical year,  but  now  Christmas  and  Easter  are  kept  by  nearly 
all  the  denominations ;  other  festivals  also  are  observed  by 

Forms  of  prayer  were  at  one  time  gravely  objected  to,  and 
the  use  of  the  Prayer  Book  by  this  Church  was  a  standing 
objection  to  it,  but  now  responsive  readings,  precomposed 
services,  and  the  like  are  very  common. 

In  the  matter  of  architecture,  and  especially  in  the  use  of  the 
cross  to  designate  a  religious  building,  this  Church  once  was 
peculiar,  but  now  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  its  edifices  by  their 
style  of  construction,  other  bodies  having  adopted  it.  And  in 
various  other  ways  what  were  once  features  of  the  Episcopal 
Church  have  gradually  become  adopted  by  others. 

In  addition  to  the  influence  thus  exerted  it  has  had  much  to 
do  in  quickening  the  thought,  and  in  aiding  the  social  life  of 
communities.  Always  the  friend  of  generous  culture,  it  has 
numberud  in  its  membership  those  who  have  been  distinguished 
in  the  professions,  and  as  leaders  of  thought.  It  has  always 
been  the  friend  of  sound  learning,  and  has  encouraged  refined 
and  gende  manners.  Its  schools  for  the  higher  education  of 
young  people  abound  in  all  parts  of  the  country  and  are  too 
numerous  to  name  here. 

It  has  now  eleven  Universities  and  Colleges,  as  follows:  — 
(i.)  "Trinity,"  Hartford,  Conn,;  (2.)  "  Kenyon,"  Gambler, 
Ohio:  (3.)  "Lehigh  University,"  Bethlehem,  Penn.  ;  (4.) 
"Racine,"  Racine,  Wis,;  (5.)  "  Hobart."  Geneva,  N.  Y. ; 
(6.)  "  Griswold,"  Davenport.  Ohio;  (7.)  "University  of  the 
South,"  Sewanee,  Tenn. ;  (8.)  "St.  Augustine,"  Benicia,  Cal. : 
{9.)  "St.  James."  Hagerstown.  Md, ;  (lo.)  "College  of  the 
Sisters  of  Bethany."  Topeka,  Kansas;  (ii.J  "St.  John's," 
Shanghai.  China. 

It  has  ever  aimed  to  send  forth  an  educated  ministry,  and  its 
interest  Jn  theological  training  is  shown  in  the  fact  that  it  has 
to-day  no  less  than  fifteen  institutions  for  its  candidates,  as  fol- 
lows :  — 


(i)  The  General  Theological  Seminary,  New  York;  (a)  the  Theologieal 
Seminary  of  Virginia,  near  Alexandria,  Va. ;  (3)  Theological  Seminary,  Gam- 
bier,  Ohio;  (4)  Theological  School,  Cambridge,  Mass.;  (5)  the  Divinity 
School,  Philadelphia;  (6)  Nashotah  House,  Nashotah,  Wisconsin;  (7)  the 
Western  Theological  Seminary,  Chicago,  111. ;  (8)  St.  Andrew's  Divinity 
School,  Syracuse,  N.  Y. ;  (9)  DeLancey  Divinity  School,  Geneva,  N.  Y. ;  (10) 
Ravenscroft  Training  School,  Asheville,  N.  Y. ;  (11)  Bishop  Payne  Divinity 
School,  Alexandria,  Va. ;  (12)  Seabury  Divinity  School,  Faribault,  Minn.;  (13) 
Berkeley  Divinity,  in  Middletown,  Conn. ;  (14)  Theological  Department  at  Gris- 
wold;  (15)  Theological  Department  at  the  University  of  the  South. 

Every  increase  of  earnestness  has  made  it  more  and  more 
aggressive  in  its  aims,  until  "the  time  has  now  come  when  it 
realizes  that  its  work  is  bounded  by  nothing  but  the  necessities 
of  the  race  to  which  we  belong."  The  variety  of  its  labors  is 
indicated  by  the  list  of  its  general  societies  now  in  operation, 
and  carried  on  with  considerable  degrees  of  earnestness.  They 
are  as  follows  :  — 

(i)  The  Domestic  and  Foreign  Missionary  Society;  (2)  American  Church 
Building  JFund  Commission  ;  (3)  Societies  for  the  Relief  of  Widows  and  Or- 
phans of  deceased  clergymen  and  of  aged  and  infirm  clergymen;  (4)  Bible  and 
Prayer  Book  Societies;  (5)  Societies  for  educating  Students  for  the  Ministry; 
(6)  Church  Mission  to  Deaf  Mutes ;  (7)  American  Church  Sunday  School  In- 
stitute; (8)  Church  Temperance  Society;  (9)  Free  and  Open  Church  Associa- 
tion; (10)  The  Church  Congress  for  discussion  of  leading  questions;  (11) 
Brotherhood  of  St.  Andrew  for  young  men;  (13)  The  White  Cross  Army 
against  impurity  and  profanity;  (13)  The  Church  Unity  Society  for  promot- 
ing the  Reunion  of  Christendom;  (14)  Guild  of  the  Holy  Cross,  for  interces- 
sory prayer  for  the  sick;  (i5)  Sisterhoods  for  organized  services  of  women  as 
teachers,  nurses,  etc.;  (16)  Church  Mission  to  the  Jews;  (17)  The  Girls' 
Friendly  Society;  (18)  The  Young  Men's  Friendly  Society. 

In  addition  to  these  general  organizations  there  are  local 
societies  and  institutions,  such  as  hospitals,  **  Homes'*  for  the 
aged  and  the  young,  ''  Refuges"  for  the  fallen,  day  nurseries, 
and  other  well-devised  instrumentalities  for  aiding  the  needy, 
and  doing  good  to  the  bodies  and  souls  of  others. 

Some  of  these  local  institutions,  such  as  St.  Luke's  Hospital 
in  New  York,  and  the  Episcopal  Hospital'in  Philadelphia,  have 
become  known  all  over  the  country  as  models  of  organization 
and  efficiency. 

But  it  is  manifestly  impossible  to  give  any  satisfactory  history 
of  the  Episcopal  Church  in  a  few  pages.  Its  first  period,  when 
it  was  a  branch  of  the  English  Church,  brings  to  view  import- 
ant events  and  questions  connected  with  the  settlements  in  the 


original  Uiirteen  colonies.  Its  second  period  during  the  strug- 
gles immediately  preceding  the  Revolution,  and  continuing  down 
to  the  establishment  of  our  country's  independence,  shows  us 
an  organization  passing  through  the  fires  and  '^&.  retaining  its 
life.  Its  third  period,  from  about  1785  to  1821,  tells  us  of  the 
slow  process  of  adapting  itself  to  the  new  condition  of  things, 
and  of  the  still  slower  process  of  winning  the  contidence  of  the 
people,  who  regarded  it  as  an  alien.  Its  fourth  period,  from 
1821  to  the  present,  abounds  with  much  that  illustrates  how  im- 
portant a  factor  it  has  become  in  the  life  of  the  American  peo- 
ple, and  how  it  is  destined  to  become  a  power  for  still  greater 
good  in  coming  years. 

Any  one  of  these  periods  presents  a  large  and  interesting 
field  for  study.  The  ground  has  been  well  traversed  by  Bishop 
Perry  in  his  "  History  of  the  American  Episcopal  Church  from 
1587  to  1883."  Other  volumes  upon  the  subject  are  Bishop 
White's  "  Memoirs  of  the  Episcopal  Church,"  Bishop  Wilber- 
force's  *'  History  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  Amer- 

For  explanation  of  the  system,  the  usages  and  peculiarities  of 
ihis  Church,  such  books  and  pamphlets  as  the  following  are 
usually  accessible :  — 

Bishop  Kip's,  "Double  Witness  of  the  Church;"  Bishop 
Randall's  "Why  am  I  a  Churchman?"  Shinn's  "Questions 
about  our  Church;"  Bishop  Garrett's  "Historical  Continuity;" 
Little's  "Reasons  for  being  a  Churchman."  Among  the  most 
useful  is  "The  Church  Cyclopedia,"  edited  by  Benton,  and 
containing  under  appropriate  headings,  the  explanation  of  points 
in  history,  theology,  usage,  and  ceremony. 

These  words,  once  uttered  by  Bishop  Clarke,  are  very  appro- 
priate in  this  connection: — 

"  Being  thus  conservative  and  free,  linked  to  the  past  by  an 
indissoluble  tie,  and  in  full  sympathy  with  the  living  present," 
the  Episcopal  Church  has  before  it  a  noble  work  in  this  land. 

Its  historic  episcopate,  its  majestic  liturgy,  its  firm  grasp  of 
essential  principles,  while  allowing  wide  liberty  of  opinion  upon 
non-essential  points;  its  honoring  the  Word  of  God,  and  making 
much  of  the  fellowship  of  believers  in  the  body  of  Christ;  its 
high  regard  for  the  ordinances  and  sacraments  appointed  by 


the  Master  as  channels  of  grace  ;  and  its  organization,  which  is 
as  far  from  oppression  as  it  is  from  laxity, — all  are  elements  of 
its  power  and  usefulness. 

One  feature  of  this  Church  is  worthy  of  special  attention, 
the  dignified  sincerity  and  calmness  with  which  it  holds  its  way 
notwithstanding  the  objections  to  its  principles  and  usages  made 
by  prejudiced  or  uninstructed  opponents.  It  utters  no  anathemas 
against  those  who  do  not  accept  its  authority ;  it  offers  its  priv- 
ileges to  all  who  will  have  them  ;  and  it  unchurches  none  who 
have  been  baptized  in  the  name  of  the  Trinity.  At  the  same 
time  it  never  yields  the  claim  that  it  is  a  true  branch  of  the  His- 
toric Church.  It  will  not  be  considered  as  a  sect  of  modern 

The  preface  to  the  Ordinal,  in  which  its  polity  is  set  forth, 
is  a  model  of  strength  and  courtesy  in  stating  one  of  the  points 
over  which  there  has  been  so  much  controversy  in  modern 
days.  It  declares  its  purpose  to  cling  to  the  ministry  of  three 
Orders  because  it  finds  authority  for  such  a  ministry  in  the 
Scriptures,  in  ancient  authors,  and  in  the  unbroken  continuance. 
It  retains  what  was  the  invariable  usage  of  fifteen  centuries,  and 
throws  the  burden  of  proving  the  lawfulness  of  any  other  min- 
istry upon  those  who  have  departed  from  that  which  is  historic. 
It  knows  that  its  own  Orders  are  valid ;  it  utters  no  judgment 
for  or  against  any  others. 

Recognizing  all  Christians  as  brethren  in  the  Church  of 
Christ,  it  rises  up  above  all  controversies,  and  bears  them  day 
by  day  before  the  Throne  of  Grace  in  these  matchless  words :  — 
*'  More  especially  we  pray  for  Thy  Holy  Church  Universal, 
that  it  may  be  so  guided  and  governed  by  Thy  Holy  Spirit  that 
all  who  profess  and  call  themselves  Christians  may  be  led  into 
the  way  of  truth,  and  hold  the  faith  in  unity  of  spirit,  in  the 
bond  of  peace,  and  in  righteousness  of  life.'' 


IN    TWO    ACTS. 


"  Sweet  is  revenge,  especially  lo  women." —  Byron. 


1757- — All  things  considered,  young  Percy,  Lord  Vivian, 
was  "  as  pretty  a  bit  of  flesh  "  as  had  e'er  set  foot  in  the  Colo- 
nies up  to  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century.  Now  that  im- 
ported human  luxuries  are  drugs  in  our  market,  no  doubt  many 
his  equal  have  appeared  among  us  ;  but  previous  to  the  Revolu- 
tion young  Lord  Percy  could  easily  have  borne  away  the  palm. 
An  habitu^  of  one  of  England's  most  fastidious  courts,  he  came 
out  to  the  wilderness  in  the  very  flower  of  his  youth, — dashing 
among  men,  gallant  among  women; — in  a  word,  a  British 

Naturally  his  departure  from  Albion  in  a  ship-of-war  provoked 
a  very  whirlwind  of  lamentation;  many  a  bright  eye  waxed 
dim.  many  a  quivering  lip  declared  him  "cruel" ;  one  especially 
stood  in  her  bower  after  his  departure  and  looked  sea-ward  with 
streaming  eyes  whose  rivulets  the  prayerfully  clasped  hands 
forgot  to  stanch.  This  was  the  Lady  Henrietta,  my  lord's  be- 
trothed.—  Ay,  it  was  a  hard  day  for  lair  England; — unkind 
Lord  Percy  I 

It  mattered  not  to  his  deplorers  that  he  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  of  bearing  arms  in  defence  of  his  country's  interest  abroad  ; 
they  quite  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  he  had  gone  to  America 
simply  in  search  of  adventure  ;  it  was  suflicient  for  them  that  he 
had  gone  from  their  sight,  and  they  refused  to  be  consoled.  Of 
course,  to  adventurous  spirits,  the  seat  of  war,  providing  it 
coupled  some  special  charms  to  its  hazards,  was  the  site^arcA:- 
cellcnce  to  be  chosen  for  self-imposed  exile. 

A  century  ago  Lake  George  was  quite  as  attractive  in  a  way 
as  it  is  to-day.  To  be  sure,  nature  was  something  less  alloyed 
in  those  days,  but  Fort  William  Henry  bloomed  flourishingly 
upon  its  shore,  there  was  some  exceedingly  choice  imported 
Btock  in  garrison  there,  where  officers  passed  the  long  days  in 

322  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

martial 9  if  agreeable »  leisure,  despite  the  bold  assertion  of 
historians  that  **they  exhibited  nothing  but  indolence  and 
weakness."  It  was  mid-summer,  the  country  was  at  its  best, 
and  my  Lord  Percy's .  health  and  pleasure  were  of  paramount 
importance.  To  the  lovely  Horicon  district  forthwith  he  posted, 
and  in  due  time  applied  to  the  doughty  Colonel  Munroe  for 
hospitality  and  a  secretary's  post.  *' We  are  fighting  men  here, 
my  lord,"  said  Munroe,  with  a  significant  smile  addressed  to 
Vivian's  flowered  waistcoat  and  rich  laces. 

*' Never  fear,  Colonel,"  replied  my  lord,  returning  smile  for 
smile ;  **  believe  me  this  taffety  conceals  the  verj'  sinews  of  war, 
but  call  them  into  requisition." 

However,  as  the  otiosa  sedulitas  of  the  camp  continued  unin- 
terrupted during  the  balmy  weather,  the  Colonel  had  no  fault 
to  find,  my  lord  no  cause  to  complain.  Adventure,  amatory  or 
otherwise,  being  handsome  Percy's  end  in  view  in  going  abroad, 
he  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  the  trout  of  Horicon  were 
larger  than  those  of  his  native  meres,  that  the  deer  were  more 
plentiful  than  in  his  prospective  preserves,  and  that  a  certain 
pioneer-farmer's  daughter  was  somewhat  fairer  than  his  pining 
Henrietta.  The  trout  and  the  deer  he  left  unmolested  after  a 
little  ;  the  farmer's  daughter  he  molested  not  a  little.  Not  that 
for  an  instant  he  contemplated  throwing  over  the  wealthy  Lady 
Henrietta  for  the  impecunious  Dorothy  Pell ;  such  conduct 
would  be  sheer  madness;  but  pretty  Dorothy  possessed  eyes 
in  whose  limpid  depths  it  amused  him  to  read  the  secrets  of  her 
soul ;  she  had  lips  like  fresh  rose-petals  that  he  loved  to  kiss ; 
above  all,  she  was  deliciously  naive ^  which  my  Lady  Henrietta 
was  not.  Ever  an  enthusiastic  student  of  the  sex,  Vivian 
frankly  confessed — to  himself — that  though  Dorothy  was  his 
affinity,  the  missing  fraction  which  was  destined  by  heaven  to 
complete  his  integral  being,  he  preferred  to  live  and  die  in  im- 
perfect state  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  facing  the  consequen- 
ces of  so  grave  a  misalliance.  So  he  continued  to  kiss  Dorothy 
and  to  read  her  little  optical  secrets  at  his  pleasure,  while  she — 
deluded  maid  —  drank  to  the  dregs  the  cup  of  his  specious 
wooing.  And  all  the  while  Dorothy  was  doing  no  violence  to 
her  better  nature.  A  lover  she  had,  'tis  true,  a  worthy  young 
Hollander — Jan  Von  Alstyne  by  name,  as  dutiful  a  swain  as 



ever  maiden  boasted  ;  yet  from  the  first  he  loved  in  vain.  Dor- 
othy owned  lo  a  certain  fancy  for  the  honest  lad,  that  was  all. 

"  I  like  thee  well,  Jan,"  she  was  wont  lo  say  in  answer  to 
his  almost  daily  entreaty,  "  but  I  love  thee  not." 

But  Jan  loved  on  with  the  pertinacity  of  his  race,  comforting 
himself  with  the  thought  that  "love  is  of  such  superlative 
worth,  that  it  is  more  honorable  to  be  its  victim  than  its  con- 
queror," or  assurance  to  that  effect.  Having  no  dtfined  claim, 
he  stepped  down  and  out  when  my  Lord  Percy  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance, but  he  kept  his  weather  eye  open;  he  was  too  genu- 
ine a  man  himself  not  to  recognize  your  ■petit-mditre  by  instinct. 
"  rn  save  thee  from  thyself  if  needs  be,  Dorothy,"  he  would 
often  say,  holding  her  in  his  mind's  eye. 

Thus  in  gentle  dalliance  passed  the  sweet  summer  days  for 
Vivian  and  his  lady  love.  Who  shall  blame  her  that  she  was 
ensnared  when  great  ladies  pined  for  his  return  and  sent  him 
dainty  missives  across  seas? 

Meanwhile  (the  inmates  of  Fort  William  Henry  little  dream- 
ing, in  their  dignified  repose,  of  the  gory-handed  Nemesis  who 
was  winging  her  ponderous  flight  in  their  direction),  the  vigor- 
ous Montcalm  was  despatching  his  trusty  aids  to  the  forts  at 
Crown  Point  and  Ticonderoga,  to  the  Indian  and  Canadian  es- 
tablishments, and  sharpening  his  weapons  for  that  long  pre- 
meditated coup-dc-grdcc. 

It  was  like  a  maelstrom,  with  open-mouthed  Bellona  shriek- 
ing in  the  van,  that  the  Frenchmen,  flanked  by  their  savage 
contingent,  swept  down  upon  Fort  William  Henry ;  and  it  was 
upon  the  sixth  day  of  the  valiant  defence  that  Colonel  Munroe 
appealed  to  his  lordly  secretary,  directing  him  to  ride  posthaste 
to  Fort  Edward  and  beseech  Webb  to  send  him  aid  ere  he 

It  was  an  expedition  not  without  its  penis,  but  my  lord  laid 
aside  his  taffety  and  displayed  his  war-like  sinews.  Alas,  what 
would  my  Lady  Henrietta  and  the  grandes  dames  have  said 
could  they  have  known:*  Fortunately  for  their  sympathetic 
nerves  they  did  not  know,  but  Dorothy  Ptil  did,  and  she  inter- 
cepted the  flying  emissary  on  the  beech-clad  hill  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  surface  of  the  tranquil  lake  trembling 
beneath  the  roar  of  the  deep-mouthed  cannon.     Like  an  appa- 

3^4  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

rition  she  rose  in  his  pathway  and  laid  her  firm  hand  upon  the 
foam-flecked  bridle. 

**  Percy  !     You  are  going  away.** 


**  For  good,**  she  added,  prophetically. 

**  No,  no,  Dorothy  ;    I  shall  return.'* 

''*  Never  \  —  Percy;  if  you  love  me,  take  me  with  you,**  she 

Position  de  gSne  I  but  Vivian's  diplomacy  rose  superior  to 
the  occasion. 

*'  I  will  prove  my  love  by  coming  back  for  you,  Dorothy,"  he 
said,  with  a  glance  that  might  have  magnetized  an  empress. 

**  You  swear  it?" 

**  Ay,  by  my  knightly  word  !" 

**  So  be  it;  I  will  wait." 

She  relinquished  her  hold  upon  the  bridle,  and  laying  her 
hand  upon  the  pommel  of  his  saddle,  she  rose  upon  tiptoe  and 
presented  her  innocent  lips,  while  he  bent  above  her  to  receive 
that  kiss  of  faith. 

At  Fort  Edward  were  delayed  mails  ;  — the  Lady  Henrietta 
had  grown  impatient  and  threatened  nameless  violence  unless 
her  lover  returned  to  her  instanter. 

The  summons  produced  its  effect ;  moreover,  with  the  perspi- 
cacity of  genuine  selfishness,  Vivian  found  himself  very  well 
out  of  a  very  bad  mess  ;  he  did  not  fail  to  notice  the  reluctance 
on  General  Webb's  part  to  send  relief  to  the  besieged,  and  he 
very  wisely,  if  ungallantly,  preferred  to  intrust  his  precious 
person  to  the  mercy  of  Neptune  rather  than  venture  within  the 
doomed  walls  of  Fori  William  Henry.  For  months  thereafter 
the  valiant  Munroe  believed  that  his  secretary  had  fallen  a  vie- 
tim  to  the  enemy's  scouts,  Webb's  indisposition  to  help  lending 
color  to  the  supposition ;  whereas  my  Lord  Percy  had  duly 
reached  Englxmd,  and  made  my  Lady  Henrietta  his  bride  and 
the  happiest  of  mortals.  And  Dorothy  Pell  ?  —  Environed  by 
the  convulsions  of  her  native  land,  she  saw  her  fairy  dreams  of 
bliss  fade  one  by  one,  and  lived  to  sadly  learn  **  how  disappoint- 
ment tracks  the  steps  of  hope."  Even  her  tardy  union  with 
faithful  Jan  Van  Alstyne  failed  to  heal  the  bleeding  wound  in 
her  heart,  and  as  a  treasured  flower  fades  she  faded  within  his 

IN  TWO  ACTS.  325 

protecting  arms,  leaving  him  a  son  with  the  imprint  of  her  ser- 
aphic features  upon  his  baby  face. 

About  this  time  my  Lord  Percy  chanced  to  be  reading  aloud, 
and  came  upon  the  passage  : — 

"We  must  confess  that  life  resembles  the  banquet  of  Dam- 
ocles—  the  sword  is  ever  suspended." 

**  How  very  dreadful !  "  murmured  my  Lady  Henrietta,  with 
a  shudder,  pressing  her  first-born,  the  future  Lord  Vivian,  to 
her  breast.     *'  What  can  the  author  mean?" 

*'  He  is  a  moralist,  my  dear,"  was  the  astute  response,  **  and 
moralists  are  ever  tiresome  vapor ers." 


1885. — **  She's  charming,  is  she  not?" 

'*  Oh,  yes  ;  thoroughly  so.  I  really  know  of  no  girl  one-half 
so  lovely.  And  she's  quite  a  heroine  in  a  way.  You  must 
know  that  she  has  supported  herself  since  she  was  a  mere  child, 
despite  the  insistence  of  her  relatives  and  friends,  who  are 
shocked  beyond  measure  at  her  independent  course." 

"  Not  wealthy,  then?"     • 

**  Bless  you,  no!  quite  the  reverse.  She  has  been  an  in- 
structress at  Madame  Lacourifere's  school  in  New  York  ever 
since  she  was  graduated  there.  My  daughters  are  her  pupils 
and  fairly  idolize  her." 

'*  You  interest  me.     Is  she  well  born?" 

*'  None  of  your  Southern  stock  any  better  than  hers.  Surely 
if  there  exists  such  a  thing  as  an  aristocracy  in  this  republic, 
she  belongs  to  it.  She  is  related  to  some  of  the  most  exclusive 
as  well  as  wealthy  families  in  the  North." 

"  Then  why  does  she  teach  for  a  living?" 

*' Simply  because — her  father  having  failed  in  '73,  leaving 
her  shortly  after  an  orphan  of  eight  years  —  she  prefers  not  to 
be  a  burden." 

*'  I  call  such  conduct  in  a  girl  sheer  Quixotism." 

**You  misjudge  her.  She  is  the  least  fantastic,  least  chi- 
merical young  woman  I  ever  met.  You  should  know  her  to 
appreciate  her ;  and  to  appreciate  her  is  to  worship." 

'*  High  praise,  indeed  1  But,  tell  me,  how  happens  it  that 
she  can  afford  to  be  a  guest  at  so  expensive  a  resort?" 

326  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

**  Simply  enough ;  she  is  here  at  my  wife's  invitation.'* 

**Your  wife  must  have  been  obliged  to  resort  to  positive 
genuflection  in  order  to  induce  this  high  priestess  of  independ- 
ence to  suffer  such  obligation." 

The  gentleman  addressed  arose  and  tossed  the  remnant  of 
his  cigar  over  the  balustrade  in  mock  irritation. 

*'  What  an  unbeliever  you  are  !"  he  exclaimed.  **  I  declare 
I'll  introduce  you  to  Miss  Van  Alstyne  and  leave  your  prepos- 
terous scepticism  to  mortify  you  into  rationality  !" 

Simultajieously  several  ladies  at  the  far  end  of  the  spacious 
verandah  were  expatiating  upon  the  self-same  bon  sujet^  but, 
woman-like,  with  a  trifle  more  reserve. 

^^  Of  course  she  is  beautiful ;  but  pick  her  apart,  and  I  don't 
know  that  you  would  have  such  perfect  elements." 

**No;  her  comeliness  seems  to  reside  in  the  way  those  ele- 
ments are  combined.  Her  figure  is  simply  statuesque.  I  think 
I  never  saw  fourteen  yards  of  untrimmed  white  flannel  so  grace- 
fully disposed.  Of  course,  being  so  tall,  she  must  take  a  full 

*  *  Is  she  not  a  trifle  too  tall  ?" 

''  If  I  could  see  her  in  something  beside  rigid  black  and 
white  I  could  answer  that  question." 

**  If  she  were  to  appear  in  blue,  for  instance,  she  might,  if 
my  suspicions  are  correct,  appear  a  trifle  gawky." 

*'  Oh,  never  that!  she 's  naturally  too  svelte.^ 

'*  Well,  at  all  events,  she's  wise  enough  in  her  own  genera- 
tion to  stick  to  black  and  white ;  she's  far  too  highly  colored 
with  her  creamy  skin  and  jet-black  hair  to  wear  anything  else." 

This  somewhat  censorious  critic,  who,  by-the-by,  had  been  a 
belle  at  the  Fort  William  Henry  Hotel  for  seasons,  the  number 
of  which  it  would  be  uncharitable  to  mention,  here  indulged  in 
a  sharp  inspiration. 

''My  goodness r  she  exclaimed,  ''that  swell  Englishman 
has  gone  and  picked  up  her  handkerchief!  I  do  believe  she 
dropped  it  just  to  attract  his  attention.  I  saw  her  talking  to  the 
other  one  last  evening  —  and  they're  both  noblemen  r 

Meanwhile  the  much-canvassed  cynosure  was  deporting 
herself  with  unassailable  modesty,  strolling  about  the  ornate 
grounds  of  the  hotel,  flanked  by  two  little  girls,  whom  she  was 



evidently  entertaining  with  some  appropriate  narration,  for  they 
walked  beside  her  in  rapt  silence.  True,  she  had  accidentally 
dropped  her  handkerchief  before  a  rustic  seat  whereon  sat  a 
gentleman,  shaded  from  the  garish  rays  of  the  setting  sun  by  a 
clump  of  the  regal  Palma  ChrisU,  that  marvel  of  tropic  foliage 
that  seems  as^eu  approprii  to  our  rude  zone  as  the  peacock  or 
the  oriole. 

"  Beg  pardon.  Miss,"'  he  said,  suddenly  starting  to  his  feet 
and  rescuing  the  dainty  scrap  of  embroidery  from  the  yellow 
dust  of  the  path,  "but  you've  dropped  j'our  handkerchief  I" 

He  spoke  with  that  respectful  assurance  and  slight  rising 
intonation  which  so  promptly  mark  the  well-bred  Englishman. 
Moreover,  he  bore  with  peculiar  charm  and  grace  that  inde- 
scribable cachet  of  his  race  so  studiously  aped  abroad,  but 
which  is  so  inimitable. 

"I  thank  jou  very  much,"  Miss  Van  Alstyne  replied,  her 
sweet  mouth  curving  into  an  apologetic  smile,  while  her  frank 
brown  eyes  added  their  share  of  gratitude ;  "I  am  very  sorry 
to  have  troubled  you,  sir." 

"Pray  don't  mention  it;  I  am  at  fault  for  interrupting  so 
interesting  a  story." 

She  smiled  again,  quite  at  her  ease  in  the  presence  of  such 
unaffected  courtesy. 

"  I  was  merely  telling  my  little  friends  the  oft-told  tale  of 
this  attractive  region,"  she  said. 

"  I  would  that  I  might  have  been  included  among  your  audi- 
tors ;  I  fear  I  am  wofully  ignorant,  even  for  a  stranger." 

"Tell  the  gentleman  the  story.  Miss  Dorothy,"  interposed 
the  elder  of  the  little  girls  ;   "  I  could  hear  it  all  over  again  T 

"  So  could  I,"  demurely  echoed  her  companion. 

For  the  first  time  a  conscious  blush  suffused  the  creamy 
velvet  of  Dorothy  Van  Alstyne's  cheek,  as  she  answered,  veil- 
ing her  lustrous  eyes : 

"The  gentleman  is  an  Englishman,  children,  atid  I  am  far 
too  patriotic  to  be  diplomatic,  I  fear." 

He  uttered  a  laugh  of  genuine  admiration  and  bonhomie. 

"  There  is  no  need  of  diplomacy,"  he  urged,  "since  we  were 
all  Englishmen  in  1757.  If,  however,  we  were  at  Ticonderoga 
or  Crown  Point,  instead  of  here  at  Fort  William  Henry,  your 

328  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

sensitive  courtesy  might  suffer  in  the  narration  of  certain  facts 
unpalatable  to  British  tastes." 

^^  Certain  British  consciences  ought  to  twinge,  even  here,'- 
thought  Miss  Dorothy,  with  a  swift  clouding  of  the  eye;  aloud 
she  rejoined  naively  : 

*'  Your  ignorance  of  American  history  seems  not  to  be  as 
woful  as  you  would  wish  it  to  appear,  sir."  Adding,  with  her 
frank  smile,  *' My  ability  as  a  racontcusc  of  hackneyed  facts 
is  only  at  its  best  in  the  presence  of  perfectly  ingenuous  au- 

A  fond  glance  at  her  little  companions  speedily  rendered  the 
occult  sarcasm  of  her  words  one  of  those  surplices  de  Tantale 
rather  agreeable  than  otherwise  to  the  victims  of  first-sight  love. 

He  raised  his  hat  with  grave  decorum  as  she  turned  away 
along  the  sunlit  path,  though  there  was  an  undaunted  twinkle 
in  his  Saxon  blue  eyes  which  would  have  accelerated  Miss  Dor- 
othy's pulses,  had  she  seen  it,  far  more  than  had  his  significant 
attitude  during  their  brief  interview.  But  she  went  away  with 
that  innate  elegance  of  carriage  which  marks  the  unconscious 
diijnitv  of  the  ladv-born,  leaving  her  admirer  at  the  mercy  of 
his  travelling  companion,  *'  that  other  nobleman,"  who,  at  that 
moment,  chanced  along  the  path  and  dropped  languidly  upon 
the  seat  beside  him. 

'*  Jove,  dear  boy," — the  new  comer  began  in  a  tone  of  such 
utter  lingual  collapse  that  his  words  came  lispingly, —  **so 
you're  in  the  toils,  too,  eh?" 

*'  What,  .  .  .  whose  toils?"  demanded  his  friend  absently, 
his  eyes  following  the  vanishing  group,  his  corrected  use  of  the 
pronoun  betraying  his  mental  drift. 

*' Why,  of  that  brunette  siren,  you  know  ;  that  .  .  .  that  .  .  . 
a  .  .  .  how  shall  I  put  it?  —  that  nineteenth-century  Circe." 

Miss  Dorothy  had  disappeared  with  her  attendant  nymphs, 
and  the  blue  eyes  lost  something  of  their  ecstacy. 

*'  Do  you  mean  the  young  woman  with  the  children?"  he  in- 

**  Precisely." 

**  If  you  will  be  classical,  Grassmere,  call  her  Aspasia;  the 
name  suits  her  better." 

*'Jove,  now,  Percy;  if  we  do  that,"  came  the  languid  re- 



sponse,  "  we  shall  have  to  call  ourselves  Cyrus  and  Artaxerxes, 
don't  you  know?" 

•'  I  really  can't  see  why?" 

"Why,  don't  you  remember?  —  both  the  Persian  nabobs 
were  dead  gone  on  the  Phocian  beauty,  just  as  we  are  on — "    .   . 

"  Who  says  that  /am  smitten  by  this  American  girl?" 

"  I  do,  you  know." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  please." 

"  I  mean  to,  dear  boy;  .  .  .  a  .  .  .  that  is,  I'm  going  to 
tell  you  what  a  fearful  roasting  she  gave  me  last  evening,  and 
put  you  on  your  guard." 

They  formed  a  singular  contrast — these  two  noble  youths  of 
Albion;  friends  from  boyhood,  they  had  grown  up  side  by  side 
as  opposite  as  it  ia  possible  for  two  natures  to  be,  yet  without 
the  slightest  tinge  of  antagonism.  Both  had  benefited  by  the 
same  educational  advantages,  but  where  they  had  tended 
to  develop  virility  in  the  one  they  had  opened  the  slippery  path 
to  sybaritism  to  the  other.  The  one  had  become  an  accom- 
plished man  of  the  world;  the  other  had  glided  by  easy  stages 
into  the  sensuous  spirituality  of  dilettanieism.  Evident  it  was 
that  when  the  inevitable  separation  should  come,  it  would  be 
the  weaker  member  of  this  boon-companionship  who  would  be 
the  sufferer. 

It  was  not  surprising,  then,  that  Lord  Percy  Vivian  should 
lend  an  almost  paternally  indulgent  ear  to  the  babble  of  the 
young  Viscount  Grassmere. 

"Well,"  he  inquired  with  his  cheery  smile,  "what  did  you 
do  to  induce  such  incendiary  proceedings  on  the  lady's  part?" 

"Absolutely  nothing!  I  found  her  standing  alone  in  the  star- 
light on  the  piazza,  I  offered  her  a  chair,  and  of  course  spoke 
to  her." 

"Reprehensible  to  begin  with.  She  was  justified  in  prepar- 
ing her  fire  inslanter. 

"I  can't  see  why.  Tou  did  materially  the  same  thing  ten 
minutes  ago  and  she  smiled  upon  you  where  she  glowered 
upon  me." 

Young  Lord  Vivian  looked  conscious,  and  tapped  the  toes  of 
his  boots  with  his  cane. 

"Besides,"  continued  Grassmere,  "I  find  Americans  speak 

330  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

to  each  other  in  places  like  this,  whether  they  are  acquainted 
or  not.  Well,  she  refused  the  chair  with  most  unnecessarily 
gelid  politeness.  This  piqued  me,  you  know,  and  I  asked  her 
if  she  would  walk  with  me  in  the  gardens. — 'No  1'  Would  she 
sail  with  me  next  day  on  the  lake? — 'No  I'  Would  she  do 
either  if  I  were  formally  presented  to  her? — *No!'  Jove,  I 
began  to  be  very  angry.  I  then  asked  her  whether  she  would 
also  object  to  my  being  presented  to  her?  She  answered  with 
the  most  fascinating  suavity,  that  as  she  already  knew  who  I 
was,  an  introduction  would  be  an  unnecessary  pain  to  her. 
Thereupon  I  demanded  an  explanation." 

'•Grassmere!  You  ill-mannered  villain  1"  exclaimed  his 
companion,  unable  longer  to  contain  his  hilarity. 

"Wait,  dear  boy,"  pursued  the  Viscount,  *' until  you  hear 
the  sequel.  I  asked  her  whether  I  was  unsightly,  not  a  gende- 
man  ?  '  Neither,'  she  replied ;  '  you  are  simply  Lord  Percy 

*'  Great  Heavens  !  she  mistook  you  for  me  I" 

"Apparently.  .  .  .  More  piqued  than  ever,  I  inquired  if 
being  a  Vivian  was  a  sin?  *In  my  eyes,  yes,'  she  answered; 
'of  course  you  know  that  your  ancestor  once  flourished  on  this 
spot?'  I  acknowledged  that  the  fact  had  increased  my  interest 
in  visiting  this  place.  'Oh,  indeed!'  she  exclaimed;  'and 
perhaps  you  have  come  to  see  where  Miss  Dorothy  Pell  died  of 
a  broken  heart!'  .  .  .  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  I  never 
heard  of  this  Miss  Pell ;  perhaps  I'm  not  to  blame  since  her 
cardiac  fracture  must  have  occurred  one  hundred  and  twenty- 
eight  years  ago." 

Vivian  was  sorely  tempted  to  laugh,  but  he  restrained  himself. 

'*/  know  all  about  it,"  he  said ;  the  affair  was  a  blight  upon 
my  great-grandfather's  reputation  as  a  gentleman.  You  shall 
read  his  own  account  of  his  infidelity,  in  his  diary,  which  I  have 
brought  with  me  for  reference."     Grassmere  rose  with  a  yawn. 

"  Keep  your  family  secrets  to  yourself,  Percy,"  he  said  ;  '•  I 
don't  care  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  your  ancestor,  and  have  his 
ombra  Icggicra  skipping  about  my  bed  at  night  ...  I 
suppose  Miss  Pell  must  have  been  Miss  Alstyne's  great  grand- 
mother, though  I  can't  see  how  she  could  have  been  unless  she 
was  married,  in  which  case  she  must  have  patched  up  the  rent 



in  her  heart  and  deferred  her  demise."  .  .  .  He  struck  a 
match  and  ignited  a  cigarette.  "  Believe  me,  dear  boy,  I  am 
terribly  put  out,  for  I'm  awfully  gone  on  this  goddess,  this  Ne- 
mesis of  the  Pell  family,  but  if  I  have  succeeded  in  extending 
the  span  of  your  existence  in  her  favor,  I  comfort  myself  with 
ihe  assurance  that  I  deserve  to  be  registered  among  the  immor- 
tals for  my  touching  self-abnegation." 

"Then  you  did  not  undeceive  her  as  to  your  identity?"  in- 
quired Vivian,  detaining  his  friend  as  he  turned  away. 

"  Why,  of  course  not  I"  was  the  injured  reply,  "  where  would 
have  been  the  sacrifice  if  I  had?" 

"Ten  thousand  thanks,  Grassmere  I     You  are  a  friend  indeed."' 

He  stretched  forth  his  strong  hand  and  clasped  the  Viscount's 
slender,  bejewelled  extremity. 

"Dear  me!"  murmured  the  latter,  "you're  more  ipcrdu 
d'atnour  than  I  thought  I  .  .  .  Well,  make  the  most  of 
your  opportunity,  for  be  very  sure  she'll  have  none  of  you  when 
she  discovers  that  yow  are  the  Vivian.  Dash  me,  but  I  fancy 
she  has  the  pluck  to  request  her  great- grand  mother's  spectre  to 
haunt  your  dreams  1" 

Despite  the  wholesome  warning,  Vivian  accepted  the  advice 
and  "made  the  most  of  his  opportunity."  And  the  summer 
days  fled  by  on  gilded  wing, 

The  one-sided  masqerade  continuing,  Dorothy  Van  Alstyne 
and  Vivian  were  thrown  constantly  into  each  other's  society, 
chance  favoring  this  rendezvous,  until  they  discovered  how  like 
a  charming  romance  is  love,  "  read  with  avidity  and  often  with 
such  impatience  that  many  pages  are  skipped  to  reach  the  di- 
noaemeni  sooner."  Yet  somehow  or  other,  their  particular 
dinouement  was  no  surprise  to  them ;  it  was  fully  anticipated, 
while  for  once  anticipation  concealed  no  sting  of  disappoint- 
ment. As  for  Vivian,  he  would  have  lingered  on  though  the 
picturesque  shores  of  Horicon  were  wreathed  in  snow ;  but  Dor- 
othy's hostess  was  longing  to  return  cityward,  and  in  all  proba- 
bility it  was  her_^o/  which  forced  the  bud  into  bloom. 

They  were  upon  the  lake ;  he  held  the  oars,  she  the  tiller. 
The  sun  had  set,  and  the  purple  shades  were  rushing  up  the 
steeps  from  dell  and  valley  to  quench  the  roseate  glow  that 
reigned  above. 

332  IN  TWO  ACTS. 

**What  a  pity  it  is  your  American  twilights  are  so  brief,'* 
Vivian  remarked ;  '*  they  barely  give  you  a  taste  of  what  our 
romantic  English  evenings  are." 

She  was  silent,  gazing  upward  and  westward  towards  the 
tomb  of  day ;  therefore  he  continued,  regretfully : 

''  By  another  sunset  we  shall  be  separated — perhaps  forever." 

She  lowered  her  eyes  to  his  eloquent  face,  and,  with  charac- 
teristic candor,  replied : 

"  I  shall  be  very  sorry." 

He  drew  the  oars  across  his  lap,  and,  leaning  forward,  took 
her  hand  in  his. 

'*Miss  Van  Alstyne  —  Dorothy  I  ....  May  I  plead 
some  one's  cause  before  we  part?" 

'*  Whose?"  she  asked,  wonderingly. 

'*  Lord  Percy  Vivian's." 

She  withdrew  her  hand  then,  and  her  eyes  sank,  as  her  lips 
quivered  with  a  disappointment  not  unmixed  with  irony. 

'*  You  are  a  most  devoted  friend  to  him,"  she  murmured. 

**  I  have  every  reason  to  be." 

"  I  hope  he  appreciates  you." 

*•  He  does Tell  me,  why  should  the  sins  of 

the  parents  be  visited  upon  the  children?  Can  you  not  forgive 
the  wrong,  forget  the  blight  which  rests  upon  the  name  of 
Vivian  ?" 

•'Why  should  I?" 

"  Could  you  not  forgive  and  forget  if  you  loved  a  Vivian?" 

"  But  I  do  not  love  a  Vivian  1"  she  cried  indignantly. 

'•Dorothy, —  Dorothy,  take  carel" 

Then  her  eyes  flashed  up, —  and  she  saw  it  all.  Upon  the 
ground  that  "  all  is  fair  in  love  and  war,"  he  pleaded  his  cause  ; 
he  had  inherited  the  Vivian  fascination,  and  he  pleaded  as  only 
the  confident  lover  can  plead. 

"Have  I  not  made  amends  for  the  past?"  he  demanded; 
'•has  not  Fate  enticed  me  hither,  to  the  spot  so  vividly  historic 
to  us  both^  that  I  may  redeem  Ihe  credit  of  my  name,  and  clear 
away  the  shadows  that  have  encompassed  it  for  generations  ?" 

"Would  you  have  been  so  dutiful,"  she  asked,  with  the 
faintest  of  quizzical  smiles,  "  if  you  had  not  fancied  me?  Is 
your  motive  purely  unselfish?" 


"  No,"  he  answered  frankly ;  and  she  forgave  and  forgot  all 
for  his  honesty's  sake. 

Viscount  Grassmere  was  lying  upon  his  bed,  smoking,  when 
Vivian  informed  him  of  his  happiness. 

*'Yes,  I   expected  it,"  he  returned,  languidly;  "  IVe  only 
reserved  my  congratulations  from  day  to  day,  dear  boy. 
Dorothy,  Lady  Vivian  !     Quite  poetic  —  only  don't  let  her  ring 
in  the  Pell  part  of  it ;  I  don't  like  the  name,  and  her  great- 
grandmother  has  been  a  perfect  cauchemar^  at  least  to  w^." 


By  Charles  K.  Bolton. 

Near  the  foot  of  the  virgin  falls, 
Where  the  Rhine  enshrouds  its  walls 

In  a  veil  of  foaming  white, 
Is  the  town  which  the  German  calls 

In  the  golden  times  gone  by, 
In  the  belfry  built  on  high, 

There  was  once  a  bell  in  sight ; 
And  afar  men  could  descry 
The  Minster. 

And  the  ruins  on  the  hill 

Of  the  Roman  fort,  long  still. 

Looked  in  silence  on  the  town. 
Which  the  legions  never  will 
More  enter. 

*It  is  currently  stated  that  Prince  Alexander,  of  Battenburg,  late  king  of  Bulgaria,  has  recently  invest- 
ed ;^  12,000  in  the  chateau  and  park  of  Charlottenburg,  near  Schaffhausen.  The  house  was  built  some 
thirty  years  ago  by  a  wealthy  clock-maker  of  Schaffhausen.  The  long  tunnel  on  tho  railroad 
between  Schaffhausen  and  Munich  runs  under  the  grounds.  The  late  Emperor  of  Russia  once  contem- 
plated buying  the  place,  but  the  owner  choked  him  off  by  an  outrageously  fancy  price.— [Editor.] 


But  in  war  and  peace  the  bell 
With  its  welcome  voice  would  tell 

To  the  peasants  plain  and  brown 
That  their  prayers  must  help  dispel 
All  evil. 

And  the  children  loved  to  play 
In  the  mellow  autumn  day 

By  the  side  of  their  iron  friend  ; 
And  their  voices  died  away 
In  echo. 

Thus  it  called  the  town  to  prayer 
In  the  early  morning  air, 

That  the  grace  of  God  descend ; 
Or  it  joyed  with  maiden  fair, 
In  marriage. 

Then  its  mission  was  to  mourn 
For  the  town's-men  sadly  borne 

To  their  long  eternity  ; 
And  the  bell  grew  old  and  worn 
With  tolling. 

But  when  forked  lightning  played 
Like  a  falchion's  gleaming  blade, 

It  resounded  merrily ; 
And  the  lightning  shaft  was  made 
By  the  pulsing  bell  to  break, 

And  its  deadly  deeds  forsake. 
And  vanish. 

So  the  bell  these  letters  bore : 
Vivos  voco^  and  this  more  : 

Mortuos  plango  (Men  must  die) 
jFulgura  frango  —  guarding  o'er 


The  Home  of  the  Evangelist  Moody. 

DwiGHT  L.  Moody  —  Thb  Young  Ladies'  Seminary — Mt.  Hermon  School 
FOR  Boys  —  Aboriginal  Names  and  Practices  —  Madame  Belding*s 
Wedding  —  An  Eccentric  Musician  —  Council  Rock  —  An  Avalanche 
OF  Earth. 


The  old  town  of  Northfield,  Massachusetts,  is  a  worthy  sub- 
ject for  the  pen  of  the  modern  historian.  It  is  quiet,  prosper- 
ous, beautiful  — the  home  of  men  of  past  and  present  distinction, 
and  the  scene  of  struggles  in  the  early  settlement  of  our  country. 
Northfield  is  situated  on  the  east  bank  of  the  Connecticut 
River,  at  a  point  where  the  States  of  Vermont,  New  Hamp- 
shire and  Massachusetts  meet.  Wide,  sunny,  fertile  meadows, 
highly  cultivated,  reach  back  from  the  river  to  Northfield 
''Street,"  and  yield  large  crops  of  tobacco,  grain  and  the 
ordinary  farm  produce.  Machinery  is  used,  and  is  admirably 
adapted  to  these  level  fields.  The  citizens  are  well-to-do,  as 
a  rule,  and  occupy  the  comfortable  homesteads,  with  ample 
grounds,  inherited  from  their  fathers. 

Northfield,  like  some  other  old-fashioned  towns,  delights  in  a 
beautiful  street,  laid  out  when  land  was  cheap.  For  two  miles 
through  the  centre  of  the  town  it  is  ten  rods  wide,  and  is  divided 
by  four  rows  of  elms  and  maples,  which  shade  and  beautify  it. 

There  are  two  churches,  a  good  public  library,  and  district 
schools,  as  usual,  in  such  a  village.  Northfield  has  had  its 
sorrows  in  the  past,  when  a  distillery  was  in  operation,  blight- 
ing the  homes  of  the  people ;  but  the  manufacture  and  sale  of 
liquor  is  no  longer  legalized,  and  there  is  no  police  force,  lock- 
up, or  other  accompaniment  of  rum  in  its  various  disguises. 

This  fair  town  has  a  son  of  whom  it  may  well  be  proud. 
The  evangelist  of  world-wide  renown,  D.  L.  Moody,  loves  his 
native  place,  and  has  established  on  the  green  hill,  near  the  old 
homestead,  a  living  and  most  worthy  memorial  of  himself  in  the 
Young  Ladies'  Seminary.     The  principal  building  is  a  beauti- 


ful  modem  structure,  furnished  with  all  the  necessary  ap- 
pliances for  school  and  home.  The  view  from  this  elevation  is 
an  enchanting  one.  The  green  valley,  where  the  river  winds 
like  a  ribbon,  defined  by  its  emerald  banks ;  the  variegated 
meadows,  with  mosiac  work  of  gold,  green  and  brown ;  North- 
field  street  and  its  houses  among  the  trees ;  the  arched  railroad 
bridge  that  spans  the  river  toward  the  north ;  the  hazy  hills  in 
the  distance,  over  which  the  setting  sun  sends  his  parting  rays 
through  piled-up,  fleecy  cloud,  make  a  ncene  of  delightful,  if 
not  of  startling  beauty.  With  these  favorable  surroundings  the 
pupils  are  instructed,  not  only  in  the  usual  course  of  study  of  a 
school  of  learning,  but  to  do  housework,  both  practically  and 
theoretically,  after  the  pattern  of  Miss  Lyon's  pioneer  enterprise 
at  Mt.  Holyoke,  and  Wellesley  College  of  later  years.  The 
applications  always  far  outnumber  the  vacancies ;  and  the  same 
may  be  said  of  the  flourishing  school  for  boys  at  Mt.  Hermon, 
across  the  river,  where  a  similar  great  educational  work  is  being 
done.  The  student  lads  here  are  gathered  from  far  and  near. 
Distant  Greece  and  Japan  and  other  foreign  countries  send 
pupils,  and  our  **  Nation's  Wards,"  the  Indians  and  the  colored 
race,  are  represented.  It  is,  indeed,  a  polyglot  community; 
but  all  seem  to  be  united  in  a  common  purpose  of  improvement. 

During  the  summer  vacation  the  evangelistic  company  of 
Christian  workers,  comprising  both  ministers  and  laymen  and 
any  who  are  interested  in  unsectarian  religious  enterprise,  con- 
vene each  year  to  compare  notes  and  lay  plans  for  future  cam- 
paigns against  ignorance  and  sin.  Delegates  come  from  all 
directions  in  this  country  and  from  across  the  water,  to  attend 
these  deliberations.  The  careful,  critical  studv  of  the  Bible  is 
an  important  feature  of  the  convention.  Mr.  Moody  is  the  orig- 
inator and  leading  spirit  of  the  enterprise,  and  often  conducts 
the  sessions  with  his  rare  energy  and  inspired  sagacity. 

His  venerable  mother  is  still  living  at  an  advanced  age,  and 
occupies  the  place  of  honor  whenever  she  appears  in  these 

Concerning  the  Northfield  of  the  past,  some  facts  of  interest 
may  be  gleaned  from  its  *'  History,"  now  out  of  print.  In  the 
present  craze  for  antiques,  the  Indian  appellatives  of  localities 
are  often  restored,  greatly  to  the  advantage  of  good  taste  and 


significance.  The  original  name  of  Northtield  is  not  especially 
euphonious,  however,  —  '*  Squakeag,"  —  also  spelled  variously 
in  ancient  documents,  Suckquakege,  Wissquawquegue,  and 
several  other  ways,  but  all  evidently  intended  to  represent  the 
same  thing,  —  '  a  spearing  place  for  salmon."  The  river  was 
called  Qiiinnehtuk  (the  river  with  long  waves),  and  the  land 
adjoining  the  stream    Qiiinneh-tuk-et. 

In  1670  the  whole  territory  was  occupied  by  the  River  In- 
dians, including  the  tribes  of  Agawams,  Nonotucks,  Squa- 
keags,  and  Pacomptocks.  The  first  settlement  was  in  the  years 
1673-5  ;  the  lands  being  purchased  at  their  full  value  from  the 
aborigines,  who  were  friendly  to  the  whites  at  this  time,  and 
subject  to  their  laws. 

The  lands  about  here  are  full  of  evidences  of  Indian  occu- 
pancy. Qj^ianlilies  of  domestic  utensils  are  found,  the  use  of 
which  is  easily  understood. 

The  ruins  of  granaries  or  underground  barns,  which  were 
dug  in  the  sloping  sides  of  a  knoll  or  bank  to  secure  dryness, 
may  yet  be  seen. 

Their  places  of  burial  have  been  discovered,  and  skeletons 
are  found  in  various  positions.  That  of  a  chief  is  placed  in  a  sit- 
ting posture  in  a  grave  about  five  feet  deep,  with  a  pile  of  stones 
above  his  head.  The- men  and  women  of  high  rank  are  found 
in  like  position,  with  a  mound  of  earth  above,  while  the  bodies 
of  the  common  people  lie  on  their  sides,  without  anything  visible 
on  the  surface  of  the  ground  to  mark  the  place  of  interment. 

These  natives  enjoyed  games  of  agility  and  strength  when 
not  burdened  with  the  more  serious  duties  of  war.  One  of  the 
meadows  is  called  Pauchaug,  — signifying  where  they  are  play- 
ing or  dancing.  Here  their  white  neighbors  joined  them  in 
their  sports,  and  exciting  trials  of  skill  took  place.  Wrestling 
was  a  favorite  pastime,  and  it  is  recorded  that  Captain  Joseph 
Stebbins  was  more  than  a  match  for  his  red  brethren ;  also, 
one  Stratton,  who  was  a  valiant  champion.  Other  games 
were  arbor-playing,  long-house  playing,  quoits,  and  foot  ball. 
Probably  the  professional  '*  Nine"  had  not  made  its  appearance 
in  that  primitive  community.  It  might  be  of  interest  to  know 
the  rules  of  these  friendly  games  between  our  forefathers  and 
their  red  playfellows. 


The  food  of  the  Indians  was  parched  corn,  chestnuts,  ground 
nuts,  pumpkins,  etc.,  collected  or  cultivated  by  the  squaws,  and 
game  and  fish  brought  in  by  the  men.  Traps  or  *'yank-ups" 
were  used  for  game,  and  the  fish  were  speared. 

Esquire  Seth  Field's  "old  mare"  once  strayed  into  the  woods 
and  got  into  a  trap  set  for  deer.  The  owner  was  astounded 
when  an  Indian,  breathless  from  running,  informed  him  "that 
his  squaw-horse  was  caught  in  a  yank-up." 

What  a  pity  that  these  fraternal  relations  must  cease ! 
Without  entering  into  the  causes  or  the  rights  or  wrongs  of  the 
parties  concerned,  we  record  the  fact  that  the  embryo  colony  of 
1675  was  laid  waste  by  the  Indians,  who  burned  the  houses 
outside  the  stockade,  destroyed  the  crops,  and  killed  or  drove 
away  the  inhabitants.  It  was  resettled  in  1685-90,  and  again 
destroyed;  but  was  again  settled,  and  permanently,  in  1714-23. 

The  number  of  warriors  at  the  time  of  the  destructions  was 
probably  exaggerated,  as  the  united  number  of  the  four  tribes 
is  estimated  to  have  been  1200,  of  whom  but  300  were  fight- 
ing men. 

"It  is  as  unnatural,"  it  has  been  well  said,  "for  a  right  New 
England  man  to  live  without  an  able  ministry,  as  for  a  smith  to 
work  his  irons  without  a  fire  ;"so  in  17 16  the  first  meeting-house 
was  built,  and  a  minister  engaged  to  care  for  the  spiritual  wel- 
fare of  the  colony. 

One  of  these  early  pastors,  Rev.  Benjamin  Doolittle,  was 
also  a  physician  of  large  practice.  His  services  as  surgeon 
during  the  wars  were  invaluable.  It  was  an  eventful  period  in 
military,  political  and  religious  aflfairs.  This  public-spirited 
man  kept  a  record  of  the  important  events  that  transpired  under 
his  immediate  knowledge.  The  title-page  read  thus: — A 
Short  Narrative  of  Mischief  done  by  the  French  and  Indian 
Ene7ny  on  the  Western  Frontiers  of  the  'province  of  Massachu- 
setts Bay^  etc.^  Boston^  Printed  and  sold  by  S.  Kneeland^  in 
^ueen  street^  MDCCL.  There  are  but  three  copies  of  this 
work  extant,  one  of  which  is  in  the  library  of  Harvard  College. 

After  the  death  of  Parson  Doolittle,  his  widow  married  Lieu- 
tenant Belding;  and  being  again  bereft,  she  married,  in 
advanced  life,  Japhet  Chapin. 

An  interesting  account  of  the  third  marriage  is  given  by  a 


great-granddaughter  of  this  lady,  which  well  sets  forth  the 
vigor  of  those  early  settlers,  and  the  primitive  customs  of  the 

''Madam  Belding  was  then  living  with  her  daughter,  Lucy, 
wife  of  Simeon  Chapin,  a  son  of  the  bridegroom,  who  also 
lived  in  the  same  family.  The  children,  on  coming  home  from 
school  one  day,  were  told  that  Gran'ther  and  Granny  were 
about  to  be  married.  They  didn't  understand  what  this  meant, 
and  as  children  in  those  days  understood  that  they  musn't  ask 
questions,  they  proceeded  to  investigate, — finding  Granny  up 
chamber,  where  their  mother  was  tying  a  purple  ribbon  to  her 
best  cap ;  while  Gran'ther  was  sitting  in  state  in  the  square- 
room  below,  where  he  was  soon  joined  by  the  minister. 

'*The  children  had  a  dim  idea  that  to  be  married  the  two 
must  be  together ;  so  they  quietly  seated  themselves  near  their 
grandfather  to  await  the  course  of  events.  In  due  time  they 
had  their  reward. 

''As  the  ceremony  proceeded  the  minister  requested  the 
bride  to  take  off  her  glove,  which,  (as  was  then  the  fashion), 
reached  above  the  elbow,  when  one  of  the  little  girls — about 
six  years  old — with  unconscious  grace,  stepped  forward  and 
took  it  from  her  hand,  and  at  the  proper  moment  handed  it 
back  again.  By  this  service  she  got  the  name  of  the  *  Little 

At  the  date  of  this  marriage  Mr.  Chapin  was  eighty-two 
years  of  age,  and  his  wife  eighty ;  yet  they  rode  on  horseback 
from  Chicopee  to  Northfield,  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  without 
fatigue ;  she  wearing  the  sky-blue  camlet  riding-hood  made  for 
the  occasion. 

Timothy  Swan,  the  composer  of  China,  Poland,  and  other 
pieces  of  sacred  music,  was  born  in  Northfield,  in  1758.  The 
thick  hedge  of  poplars  and  lilacs  that  secluded  his  house  from 
observation  was  the  home  of  a  multitude  of  blackbirds,  for 
which  he  seemed  to  have  an  especial  fancy,  taking  much  care 
to  protect  them  from  harm.  He  was  undoubtedly  very  eccen- 
tric. One  of  his  musical  compositions  was  written  in  the 
presence  of  a  dying  child  at  night.  It  is  said  that  the  well 
known  "China,"  one  of  the  most  lugubrious  of  tunes,  but 
a  great  favorite   in    old  times,    was  composed    while  he  was 


1  or   NORTH  FIELD,   L 

HORTHnEU^  uiOKMa  a 

346      A   WINTER  CALM  IN  THE  COUTRT. 

sion  followed.  The  clouds  seemed  to  drop  into  the  upper  valley ; 
the  rush  and  roar  and  thunder  were  frightful,  and  it  was  'black 
as  night.'  A  torrent  of  water  poured  down  into  the  valley 
below,  sweeping  everything  before  it,  till  it  reached  the  Con 
necticut  river.  The  side  of  the  mountain  where  it  struck  was 
left  a  bare  rock.  Trees  were  broken  down  and  washed  away, 
and  rocks  weighing  many  tons  were  overturned  and  moved 
down  the  slope.  Such  was  the  force  of  the  rushing  mass  that 
when  it  reached  the  arable  land  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  it 
plowed  up  the  soil  down  to  hard  pan  for  many  rods  in  width." 
But  no  such  tumult  of  nature  has  since  visited  the  place. 
The  pure  air,  the  quiet  pursuits  of  the  inhabitants,  and  the  utter 
absence  of  the  noise  and  excitement  of  the  city,  have  a  great 
charm  for  the  wearied  or  professional  business  man, —  who,  in 
such  a  spot  may  completely  relax  his  tense  nerves,  recuperate 
his  tired  brain,  and  renew  the  memories  of  his  happy  youth. 



Long,  dripping  icicles  hang  from  the  eaves. 

They  fringe  the  branches  with  their  jewelled  leaves, 

Like  sunlit  opals,  gleaming  with  the  souls 

Of  blossoms  dead  ;  an  icy  hand  controls 

The  whipping  willow,  and  its  lash  is  still, 

And  cuts  the  air  no  more ;  far  on  the  hill. 

In  silvery  patches  lie  the  glistening  snows, 

Thaw-glazed  and  frozen  over.     No  stream  flows 

But  the  bold  brook,  that  knows  no  idle  hours ; 

Unfailing,  scorning  Winter's  boasted  powers, 

She  independently  her  cheerful  way 

Maintains,  tho'  frost-tongues  oft  demand  her  stay,  — 

And,  fresh  and  sparklins^,  is  forever  found 

In  laughing  innocence  the  whole  year  round. 

The  stubble  fields,  in  crystal  folded,  shine, 

And  tempt  the  harvest  of  a  silver  mine. 

The  listless  fingers  of  the  rose-tree  there, 

Gloved  in  transparency,  pink,  white  and  fair. 

Seem  like  to  beauty's  own.     The  moveless  air 

Is  cold  and  biting  as  the  breath  of  care. 

All  labor  lags  ;  and  nature  stirs  not  —  still 

As  the  ice-clogg*d  wheels  of  yonder  silent  mill. 


'*A  Round  Unvarnished  Tale." 

BY  C.    S.   HIGHBORN. 

From  the  fir«t  of  May  to  the  close  of  October,  at  least,  there 
is  not  a  more  charming  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth  than  Ken- 
nebec county,  in  the  good  state  of  Maine. 

Her  verdure-clad  hills,  her  beautiful  valleys,  her  magnificent 
lakes  and  bounding  streams,  her  bright  skies  and  pure  air, 
contribute  to  make  this  county  one  of  the  most  delightful,  as 
well  as  healthful  places  on  the  globe. 

Goodly  Kennebec !  Her  voice  has  been  potent  in  the  coun- 
cils of  the  nation ;  her  products  are  in  all  the  markets  of  the 
world ;  her  fame  is  secure.  No  humble  word  of  mine  can 
add  to  her  laurels ;  they  are  as  enduring  as  her  granite  hills. 

If  you  are  thin  of  flesh  and  pale  of  face,  if  you  are  over- 
whelmed with  cares,  and  no  rest  comes,  if  you  are  spending 
your  best  days  in  the  bad  air  of  a  half-ventilated,  half-lighted 
office, —  oh,  come  away,  come  here  and  spend  a  season  with 
gun,  and  rod,  and  paddle ! 

Learn  what  these  mean !  They  give  long  life  and  good 
flesh,  red  blood  and  a  light  heart. 

The  events  of  a  week  thus  spent,  I  have  here  chronicled ; 
not  because  it  was  a  typical  trip, —  was  not.  I  might 
write  an  account  of  a  trip  all  sunshine,  but  should  thereby  fail 
of  my  purpose.  I  want  to  urge  upon  whoever  may  take  the 
trouble  to  read  this  article,  the  necessity  of  cutting  one's  gar- 
ment according  to  the  cloth ;  in  other  words,  of  making  the 
length  of  the  trip  dependent  on  the  time  at  one's  disposal. 
Do  not  try  to  do  three  days'  work  in  one.  If  bad  weather  befall 
you,  accept  it  with  as  good  grace  as  possible,  and  let  it  shorten 
your  trip  that  much.    This  ive  did  not  do  on  the  trip  in  question. 

Bick  (for  short)  and  myself  had  long  talked  of  a  paddle  over 
some  of  the  lakes  of  western  Kennebec,  and  finally  decided 
upon  Tuesday,  Sept.  14,  as  the  time  of  starting.  We  had  a 
canvas  canoe  seventeen  and  one-half  feet  long,  and  three  feet 


beam, — the  design  and  workmanship  of  Mr.  E.  H.  Gerrish,  of 
Bangor,  a  thorough  woodsman,  and  an  excellent  guide  for  the 
sporting  grounds  of  northern  Maine.  She  was  then  new  and 
untried ;  but  we  afterwards  had  opportunities  to  test  fully  her 
sea-going  qualities,  as  this  record  will  show,  and  we  cannot 
commend  them  too  highly. 

Into  the  canoe  we  pack  bedding,  overcoats,  rubber-coats, 
blankets  and  boots,  gun,  axe,  boxes  of  food  and  dishes,  and 
at  eleven  o'clock  we  are  off  down  lake  Cobbosseecontee. 

Perhaps  nowhere  in  Maine  is  there  a  more  beautiful  lake 
than  this.  Its  extreme  length,  from  north-east  to  south-west, 
is  about  nine  miles,  and  its  broadest  part,  is,  perhaps,  two  and 
one-half  miles  wide.  Stand  in  the  pleasant  grove  at  the  upper 
end  of  this  lake  and  look  out  upon  the  broad  bay  before  you. 
Boats  of  every  description  are  dancing  over  its  billows;  groves 
of  pine,  and  birch,  and  maple  fringe  its  shore  on  every  hand ; 
green  fields  and  bountiful  orchards  bespeak  the  wonderful  fer- 
tility of  the  farms  upon  its  borders,  and  comfortable  farm 
buildings  tell  of  the  prosperity  of  their  occupants. 

There,  on  the  western  shore,  is  the  thriving  little  village 
of  Baileyville,  in  the  town  of  Winthrop,  with  its  fine  Qjiaker 
meeting-house,  its  costly  residences  and  beautiful  gardens,  Aid 
best  of  all,  its  flourishing  manufactory,  that  gives  employment 
to  many  hands,  and  turns  out  some  of  the  finest  oil-cloths  to  be 
found  in  the  market. 

Across  the  lower  part  of  this  bay,  and  occupying  the  inter- 
mediate third  of  the  l,ike.  is  a  group  of  wooded  islands:  and 
down  through  the  channels  on  either  side  thereof,  you  see  the 
high  lands  of  Monmouth  and  Litchfield.  Up  this  bay  the  south 
wind  often  blows  with  great  force,  bringing  with  it  a  heavy  sea. 
It  is  steadily  increasing  this  morning,  as  we  paddle  from 
shore.  We  hope  to  get  into  the  lee  of  the  islands  before  it  i^ioo 
heavy  1 — but  the  white  caps  soon  tell  us  that  we  hope  in  vain. 
We  paddle  into  the  lee  of  a  small  island  off  the  east  shore,  and 
take  breath.  Thinking  the  wind  far  enough  to  the  east  to 
enable  us  to  run  down  under  the  lee  of  the  west  side  of  the 
islands,  we  strike  across.  This  is  hard  work,  to  begfin  with, 
for  up  through  the  eastern  channel  the  wind  blows  hard,  and 
quite  a  sea  is  running.     By  one  o'clock  we  have  left  **  Hodg- 


don's"  and  Belle  Isle  behind  us,  and  have  beached  for  dinner 
on  the  west  side  of  the  "  Horseshoe.'"  Here  we  should  remain 
till  the  wind  has  spent  its  force,  but  we  are  too  anxious  to  get 
ahead,  and  push  oft". 

Up  this  straight-away  stretch  of  five  miles  the  wind  blows 
furiously,  and  the  sea  runs  high.  It  blows  so  directly  up  the 
lake  now,  that  neither  side  offers  any  protection.  An  hour's 
steady  paddling,  with  our  whole  strength,  takes  us  ahead 
scarcely  a  half-mile.  We  attempt  to  make  land  on  the  western 
shore,  and  before  we  are  aware,  are  pounding  among  the 
breakers.  Beating  a  hasty  retreat  from  this  dangerous  quarter, 
we  safely  land  a  little  farther  down  in  the  lee  of  a  friendly  point. 
After  an  hour's  rest  we  make  another  effort  to  get  ahead,  fight- 
ing our  way,  inch  by  inch,  to  the  shelter  of  the  next  point. 
Our  muscles  are  soft,  and  this  is  taking  serious  hold  of  us. 
IMore  than  that,  it  is  not  fit  weather  for  a  canoe  to  be  out  in. 
Fully  realizing  this,  we  wait  for  a  change.  Wind  and  sun  go 
down  together,  and  in  the  deepening  twilight  we  proceed  on 
our  course  until  it  is  quite  dark,  when  we  rest  for  supper.  A 
little  later,  leaving  Cobbosseecontee  behind,  we  enter  the  Jugger- 
naut,—  the  large  stream  connecting  this  lake  with  lake  Anna- 

The  moon  has  been  up  an  hour,  though  obscured  by  clouds, 
when,  at  eight  o'clock,  we  reach  the  dam  at  East  Monmouth. 
We  cannot  clearly  see  our  way,  and  the  swift  shoal  water  here, 
proves  too  much  for  our  paddles.  Finding  the  water  not  over 
our  boot-legs,  we  get  out,  and  pull  the  canoe  up  through  the 
rapids  to  the  bank,  below  the  dam.  It  takes  but  a  short  time 
to  pass  boxes,  bundles  and  canoe  up  into  the  water  above  the 
dam,  repack,  and  be  again  on  our  way. 

The  trees  along  the  bank  rob  us  of  whatever  light  we  might 
otherwise  get  from  the  moon  ;  and  the  darkness,  of  course,  re- 
tards our  progress.  Many  times  we  get  out  to  drag  the  canoe 
over  shoals,  or  to  lift  her  from  some  rock,  whereon  she  has 
stuck  fast.  A  birch  would  have  been  rent  in  a  dozen  places, 
but  our  canvas  is  not  injured  in  the  least.  By  nine  o'clock  we 
turn  our  canoe  over  for  the  night,  on  the  shore  of  Annabess- 
cook.  A  hastily  pitched  tent,  and  fire  enough  to  make  a  cup 
of  tea,  are  all  we  have  time  for  to-night.     Ordinarily,  a  day's 


trip  should  cease  an  hour  before  sundown^  that  wood  may  be 
gathered  and  tent  properly  pitched  before  dark. 

We  are  astir  at  early  morning,  and  by  nine  o'clock  we  have 
finished  breakfast,  packed  our  canoe,  and  turned  our  faces  up 
Annabesscook-  The  shores  of  this  lake  do  not  materiallv  differ 
from  those  of  Cobbosseecontee.  but  the  lake  itself  is  very  much 
smaller,  and  lacks  the  beautiful  islands.  Its  one  island,  years 
ago.  was  a  popular  picnic  ground  for  the  dwellers  in  Winthrop^ 
—  that  busy  town  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  whose  church  spires 
one  may  see  outlined  against  the  sky.  From  the  road  that  runs 
along  the  high  land  on  the  eastern  side,  one  can  look  down  on 
to  Cobbosseeconree  at  the  east  and  Annabesscook  at  the  west. 
The  waters  from  lake  Maranocook.  after  turning  the  wheels  of 
the  mil's  at  W'^inthrop.  iJow  into  this  lake  by  a  deep  and  swift- 
running  scream.  Up  this  stream  —  perhaps  an  eighth  of  a  mile 
lone*  — we  raddle  a^-i-^^t  a  three  mile  current,  till  suddenly  the 
¥ihist:e  bIo\^s.  the  gates  are  closed,  the  current  ceases,  and  we 
glide  over  the  stnjoth  water,  to  a  cotivenient  lancing  place  at 
the  rear  of  the  mills-  By  one  oVIock  we  have  hauled  ocrtrap» 
through  the  wide^-a'Aake  village  of  Winthrrp  a  v^uarter  of  a 
mile,  or  thereaSruts.  and  are  an: at  on  the  waters  of  lake  >Iarafc- 

■•  ■»«.'»■■**'•  ^  I   v"«    "*    <*""  •         ■C*"»S' 5  "*^ **""^     5""**      T.~"**  ■*    •* -k»%j      .^^   1      'C>>'''*K<_.iar**aab«kl^ii^ 

and  a  rroreller.     In  the  summer  season  thev  do  cuite   a  d 
ne>>  vjlTt^  .— ^    ^>jLmc:>  ^^    — e  ^a*.*.  .-i-  r.*. — v  itt^-"^— -cs-  — ivc  me 

etc  US  voutJ^  **  no  uncvc  us  a*rrcc?s»  **  fvetcnec.  anv  trout  r  t  ei— 
"ar  vient  ter  Tut~mer-n:  scream  t'ccher  day.  and  caught  ooe 
t'weigne*d  :ver  :l:ur  tvuni  !       Ye  kojvr  where  Tut-m«er-no  scream 

r>>.     1     >  tV.«^C  .  i     .v«'..^K.     ,.-.^.    A.     <M..<^.    >.«.   rVs>.._^;^       ^_X.«      J_C^     — feji-.^t    L^3C 

Juggernaut.     We  sc:r  :l:r  dinner  a  short  iiscansre  x>:ve.  th«i 

•  ^     ^  •  Mr-  "  •■  ••.^     "^jt      '^ii»""»       ••      •  **•.  i&  £  C  —^  mm    "^    ^    "*  ^^        •       *  '■*    ^      •■  ^*  ^      i  ^i  ~  *"Wfc 

rseath  the  railrc^d  bridge  that  here  cr,'<5555es  the  'ake.  and  Sra-cii 
^jiTC  ..n-e  ...^...  ^•--  ^-.e  «es^cm  >»ij»ire.  arvw....  «  — .r  .— . ,.-jeT  «?6i» 
This  lake  iscc-mrrsjclv,  th.'c^^"uslv,  c-illei  Maran  icoci, 
arsd  it  is  jc  s:r>el.ei  ^n  the  c.-unt^  mrr  in  "•  Clhv's  AtLfis  o« 
Maine,*  I  ha^x:  taken  cccas^r-n  t.^  oj-nsu't  the  writer  :if  the  h»- 
t.-ocxl  sketch  ccctained  th?rtin  —  the  c^ntlertan  "tih:  on  tbe 
r\-  -week  cocuected  m-:th  the  r^uKx-arsoc:  cc  tbe  atl&s — aiid 


he  says  the  error  crept  in  by  reason  of  his  not  seeing  the  proof. 
By  a  typographical  error  a  had  been  substituted  for  o,  and  the 
proper  pronunciation  Marano'cook,  lost.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  as  to  the  correctness  of  this  latter  pronunciation.  It  is 
true  also  that  the  a,  preceding  the  suffix,  cook,  in  "  Aiina- 
bessocook  "  as  printed  in  the  atlas,  is  superfluous. 

If  you  go  camping  out,  don't  try  to  be  as  uncomfortable  as 
possible,  and  think  you're  having  a  good  time.  On  the  other 
hand,  take  all  the  clothing,  and  all  the  conveniences  you  can 
carry  without  being  burdened,  and  you'll  find  the  pleasure  of 
camping  very  much  increased. 

We  have  finished  our  supper,  wa.shed  our  dishes,  and  are 
ready  for  the  night.  The  sky  is  as  clear  as  ever  seen,  a  light 
air  comes  out  of  the  West,  the  stars  are  beginning  to  stud  the 
firmament,  and  at  7.30  the  moon,  in  peerless  splendor,  rises 
over  the  eastern  hills  that  lie  just  back  from  the  shoie  of  the 
lake,  opposite.  We  revel  in  its  glory, — regretting  that  every 
night  it  will  rise  later  and  become  smaller,  —  till  our  wearied 
bodies  forbid  us  longer  seeing  its  beauty  ;  and  after  arranging  our 
fire  for  the  night,  we  lie  down. 

The  moon  shines  full  in  to  the  doorway  of  our  lent,  our  fire, — 
burning  brightly  a  few  feet  away, — sheds  its  glow  in  upon  us, 
the  ripple  of  the  waves  upon  the  pebbled  beach  sing  us  a  lul- 
laby, and  we  yield  to  "  tired  Nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy 

Thursday  Morning. —  Last  night,  when  we  went  to  sleep, 
the  sky  was  cloudless,  the  stars  bright  and  a  gentle  west  wind 
blowing,  —  all  indicating  fair  weather  on  the  morrow.  But  we 
awake  this  morning  to  the  pattering  of  rain  upon  the  tent,  and 
find  ourselves  enveloped  in  a  thick  mist.  This  makes  a  decided 
change  in  our  plans.  We  could  go  forward  in  the  rain,  but 
trouble  would  arise  when  we  came  to  pitch  tent  at  night.  Here 
we  are  dry  ;  any  where  else,  the  ground  beneath  us  would  be 
wet.     We  therefore  decide  to  remain  here  till  the  storm  is  over. 

Camping  in  a  rain-storm,  is  not,  by  any  means,  the  worst  pre- 
dicament in  which  one  can  be  placed. 

We  want  to  get  ahead,  and  hence,  do  not  readily  "  acquiesce 
in  the  inevitable" ;  but  we  endeavour  to  make  the  best  of  it. 
We  have  no  fly  to  our  tent,  but  we  stretch  a  large  canvas  and  a 


rubber  blanket  above  the  front  of  it,  making  a  water-tight  awn- 
ing ;  and  beneath  this,  we  keep  comfortable  and  dry.  We  are 
not  without  sign  of  life  here,  for  just  across  the  narrow  lake  lies 
the  path  of  the  iron  horse ;  and  all  day  long,  up  and  down  the 
track,  thunder  the  trains  of  the  Maine  Central  Railroad. 

A  paddle  to  Readfield,  at  the  head  of  the  lake,  not  far  away, 
alone  breaks  the  day's  monotony.  Darkness  comes  in  upon  us, 
and  heaping  high  the  fire,  we  again  make  ourselves  comfortable 
for  the  night. 

Friday  morning  it  is  still  raining,  but  the  clouds  are  breaking 
and  the  wind  is  working  toward  the  west. 

We  came  to  work  ;  hence,  brought  no  reading  matter  with  us. 
We  cannot  even  fall  back  on  pipe  and  weed  to  help  us  while 
awaj'  the  time ;  for,  unfortunately,  (?)  neither  of  us  have  yet 
formed  the  habit.  But  the  day  wears  on  ;  by  four  o'clock  blue 
sky  appears;  and  now,  the  Ruler  of  wind  and  weather  hangs 
up  in  the  east  the  bow  of  promise.  "A  rainbow  at  night  is  the 
sailor's  delight." 

We  hesitate  as  to  what  course  to  pursue,  decide  to  strike 
tent,  and  in  half  an  hour  are  en  route  for  Readfield. 

It  is  an  easy  matter  to  procure  conveyance  —  in  shape  of  a 
hay-rack,  and  bj^  six  o'clock  we  are  on  the  road.  A  heavy 
thunder-shower,  just  out  of  the  west,  pelts  down  upon  us,  but 
rubber-coats  keep  us  dry,  while  the  inverted  canoe  protects  our 
baggage.  We  are  bound  for  Fayette  Mills,  four  miles  distant, 
on  the  stream  connecting  Crotched  Pond,  on  the  north,  with 
Lovejoy  Pond,  on  the  south. 

Under  favorable  circumstances  this  is  a  delightful  drive. 
Excellent  farms,  with  well  kept  buildings,  greet  the  eye  on 
either  side.  Here  and  there,  through  the  valleys,  one  gets 
glimpses  of  the  beautiful  ponds  that  lie  like  gems  among  the 
hills ;  and  all  around  in  the  blue  distance,  stand  the  everlasting 

This  verj^  long  and  very  steep  hill  up  which  we  are  drag- 
ging, is  of  wide  renown,  for  it  is  old  **  Kent's  Hill  I"  And 
here  on  its  summit,  is  the  institution  that  for  manv  decades  has 
shed  its  light  on  the  educational  world.  Kent's  Hill  and  Dr. 
Torsey !  familiar  words,  wherever  Maine's  sons  have  found  a 


"Is  the  doctor  hale  in  his  old  age,"  I  said  to  our  driver. 
"  Hale,  yes  1  and  as  hearty's  a  buck.  The  greatest  fellar  to  go 
fishing  and  gunning  that  ever  ye  seed  I  He'll  crawl  through 
mud  with  only  his  head  sticking  out,  for  the  sake  of  getting  a 
duck  I" 

I  might,  in  passing,  speak  of  this  school,  but  it  is  too  well 
known  to  need  mention  from  me. 

The  shades  of  eve  are  beginning  to  fall.  Two  miles  more 
have  to  be  covered  before  we  finally  pull  up  at  Fayette  Mills. 
It  is  very  dark  by  this  time,  and  the  ground  is  saturated  with 
water.  To  pitch  tent  would  be,  to  say  the  least,  unpleasant,  if 
not  unsafe ;  for  I  have  contracted  a  severe  cold,  and  am  feeling 
its  grip  upon  my  organs  of  breathing- 
Making  inquiries  at  the  corner  store,  we  learn  tliat  there  is 
no  hotel  in  the  village.  We  must  sleep  out  or  push  on  to  the 
next  place,  when  possibly  we  can  get  shelter. 

"  Ye'd  better  stay  on  land  to-night,  young  men,"  said  the 
gentleman  whom  we  interviewed  in  regard  to  the  course  down 
the  stream.  "  It's  a  dark  night  and  ye  don't  know  the  way." 
We  disregarded  his  kindly  advice,  however ;  and  in  ten  minutes, 
by  the  light  of  matches,  we  have  piled  our  "  traps"  into  the 
canoe,  and  are  ofl"  down  the  stream.  It  is  now  eight  o'clock. 
Though  an  occasional  star  is  to  be  seen,  the  thick  clouds,  mov- 
ing out  of  the  west,  rob  us  of  the  starlight,  and  tell  us  we  must 
expect  hut  little  from  the  waning  moon,  when  that  shall  have 
risen.  We  pick  our  way  along  —  slowly,  for  these  shores  are 
strange  to  us,  and  the  stream  is  far  from  straight.  Hereabouts, 
when  the  water  is  high,  it  overflows  quite  a  broad  section,  but 
just  now  it  is  confined  to  narrower  limits.  The  banks  are  high 
and  soft,  and  all  around,  the  land,  now  uncovered,  is  compara- 
tively low  and  marshy.  Great  tufts  of  reeds,  black  with  the 
sediment  which  the  high  waters  have  deposited,  loom  up  like 
grim  sentinels  belbre  us. 

"  Another  thunder  shower  coming?" 

"No,   those  are  ducks." 

And  there  goes  another  flock,  and  another,  and  another.  —  so 
large  that  the  beating  of  their  wings,  as  they  rise  from  their 
feeding  ground  among  the  reeds,  sounds  like  the  rattle  of  distant 
thunder,  or  volleys  of  musketry.      We  carried  a  gun,  hut  the 


darkness  protected  the  birds ;  nor  do  I  feel  confident  that  they 
would  have  materially  suffered  at  our  hands,  had  it  been  broad 
daylight.  Nowhere  else  on  our  trip  did  we  see,  or  hear,  such  evi- 
dence of  good  sporting  ground.  Ducks,  in  flocks  of  from  three 
to  ten,  we  frequently  saw,  but  here  they  seemed  to  be  in  scores. 

We  soon  pass  through  the  narrows  and  open  into  Lovejoy 
Pond.  We  can,  of  course,  see  but  very  little  of  this  lake,  but 
the  shore  down  which  we  paddle  is  fringed  with  a  beautiful 
growth  of  trees,  evergreen  and  deciduous  mingled,  and  the 
beach  seems  clean  and  bold.  About  half  way  down  the  lake, 
we  leave  the  shore  and  strike  for  the  outlet,  which  by  good 
luck  we  find  without  trouble.  Down  this  narrow  stream  we 
paddle  a  short  distance,  and  9.30  o'clock  finds  us  at  the  dam 
at  North  Wayne,  —  a  snug,  trim-looking  little  hamlet,  flourish- 
ing upon  an  industry — the  "North  Wayne  Tool  Company" — 
built  up  by  our  Governor  and  much-esteemed  citizen,  Hon. 
J.  R.   Bod  well. 

We  have  no  desire  to  pitch  our  tent  in  this  wet  grass,  and 
besides,  on  the  shore  of  this  stream  we  can't  find  wood  for  a  fire. 
Up  to  the  village,  a  few  rods  distant,  we  go,  in  search  of  an 
inn.  Now  ordinarily,  I  think,  one  does  not  look  upon  a  public 
house  as  a  public  convenience  and  necessity,  but  as  a  means  of 
()l)taining  a  livelihood.  But  find  yourself  in  a  strange  land, 
hite  at  night,  without  place  to  lay  your  head,  and  you  will  very 
soon  recognize  its  true  value. 

We  knock  at  the  first  house  in  which  we  see  a  light,  and, 
from  the  good  dame  who  attends  the  call,  learn  that  there  is  no 
public  house  in  town,  ad  she  don't  know  where  two  wayfarers 
can  gel  lodging. 

Wt*  suspect  that  our  personal  appearance  and  the  lateness  of 
the  hour  had  something  to  do  with  her  answer.  It  looks  as 
though  we  must  pitch  tent ;  and  we  start  back  to  the  canoe  with 
that  intention.  As  we  plod  along  in  the  darkness,  we  discover 
a  man  with  a  lantern,  looking — who  knows?  —  for  an  honest 
man.  Considering  ourselves  to  answer  that  requirement,  we 
hail  him.  The  question  with  us  now,  is  wood.  We  tell  this 
man  our  condition  and  needs,  and  he  readily  gives  us  of  his  store. 

•*  I'm  all  broken  up,  ready  to  move  in  the  morning,"  said  he, 
*'  or  I'd  ask  you  to  stay  here  to-night." 



We  thanked  him  for  his  kind  wishes,  and  taking  our  loads  of 
wood,  worked  our  way  back  to  the  boat. 

You  can't  pitch  a  tent  anywhere, —  you  must  have  ground  on 
which  one  can  lie  with  comfort;  for  rest  and  sleep  are  never 
more  necessary  than  when  cruising.  Then  we  had  no  poles 
to  which  to  fasten  our  ridge  rope,  but  depended  on  trees  for 
support.  To  find  a  spot,  in  the  darkness,  that  would  answer 
these  requirements  was  giving  us  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  when 
lol  the  raan  with  the  lantern!  "Boys,  I've  come  down  to 
invite  you  to  come  up  and  sleep  in  my  house.  We  have  but 
one  bed  set  up,  but  you  can  sleep  on  the  floor,  and  that'll  be 
better  than  this  wet  grass." 

We  sit  in  committee  of  the  whole  upon  this  proposilion  and 
forthwith  report  favorably.  We'll  not  trouble  him  to  get  us 
supper,  we  say,  but  take  our  food  up  to  his  house,  and  prepare 
our  own  meal.  This  we  dn ;  and  in  an  hour  from  that  lime, 
have  made  our  tea,  disposed  of  a  goodly  supply  of  food,  and  are 
at  full  length  upon  the  two  lounges  which  "mine  host "  has 
given  us.  At  day-break  we  are  astir.  Breakfast  over,  we  bid 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Rankin  adieu,  with  many  thanks  for  their  hos- 
pitality, and  make  ready  to  embark.  Half  an  hour's  puddling 
down  the  winding  stream,  and  we  enter  "  Wing's  Pond." 

It  is  a  beautiful  morning.  From  a  cloudless  blue,  the  sun 
shines  bright  and  warm  ;  a  breath  of  air  bestrews  the  surface  of 
the  lake  with  diamonds.  Peace  and  quiet  are  over  all.  No 
sounds  we  hear,  save  the  hoarse  cawing  of  crows  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  liquid  notes  of  a  trio  of  loons,  sporting  over 
yonder.  The  fertile  lands,  on  either  side,  stretch  away  to  a 
background  of  hills,  which  reaches,  iu  one  instance,  the  dignity 
of  mountain.  It  overtops,  and  watches  over  ils  lesser  brethren 
round  about  it  and  down  through  the;  valley  at  its  foot;  and. 
across  the  water,  it  keeps  watch  and  ward  over  the  quiet  little 
village  of  Wayne.  Qjiiet,  because  the  hum  of  its  woollen  mill. 
and  the  clatter  of  its  lumber  mill,  are  no  longer  heard.  In  ihe 
hurry  of  our  trip  we  do  not  learn  the  cause;  we  only  look,  and 
see  that  they  are  still. 

It  is  but  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  at  the  outside,  to  smooth  water 
below  the  dams,  but  we  learn  that  the  stream  is  shoal,  and  diffi- 
cult to  navigate.     We  have  no  idea  of  carrying  all  our  luggage 


many  rods.  The  horse  and  drag  which  we  procure  without 
difficulty,  make  a  great  deal  better  means  of  conveyance,  and 
in  half  an  hour,  we  deposit  canoe  and  baggage  on  the  northern 
shore  of  Androscoggin  Pond.  While  one  drives  the  horse 
back,  the  other  spreads  out  the  bedding  on  the  rock,  that  wind 
—  now  piping  merrily  — and  sun  may  dry  them  ;  for  in  the  two 
days  of  rain  and  mist,  they  have  become  quite  damp.  By  ten 
o'clock  we  have  carefully  loaded  the  canoe,  and  are  off  down 
this  big  sheet  of  water. 

We  notice  a  change  in  the  face  of  the  country  bordering  this 
lake,  from  that  touching  the  waters  over  which  we  have  pre- 
viously passed.  Those  great  patches  of  yellow,  on  the  hillsides 
there  in  the  North,  in  Wayne,  and  adown  the  western  shore,  in 
the  town  of  Leeds,  Andr6scoggin  county,  looking  like  immense 
fields  of  ripened  grain,  are  nothing  but  sand  fields, — fine  dry 
sand.  The  winds  blow  it  about  at  will.  It  drifts  like  snow. 
We  have  been  told  that  in  one  case,  the  sand  has  drifted  to  the 
oaves  of  a  dwelling,  leaving  but  a  foot-path  around  that  side  of 
the  house. 

The  wind,  which  at  nine  was  but  a  merrj'  breeze,  has  now 
boci>ine  very  strong,  and  is  tVeshening  ever}-  minute.  We  work 
our  way  out  around  a  reef  of  rocks,  almost  in  its  very  teeth, 
over  the  small  bay  and  through  its  mouth,  then  square  aw^ay 
for  the  southeastern  extremity  of  the  lake. 

Whoever  plans  a  canoe  trip  should  make  liberal  allowance 
for  wind  and  weather.  Already  we  have  had  two  days  of  rain, 
and.  to  sav  nothing  of  the  first  dav,  here's  a  dav  of  wind  such 
as  no  canoeist  should  venture  out  in.  But  our  time  is  limited, 
and  we  must  go. 

Across  this  broad,  unbroken  expanse  of  water,  the  wind 
blows  with  tremendous  vigor.  The  lake  is  white  with  foam, 
and  behind  each  breaking  billow  comes  another  and  another, 
too  big  and  too  heavy  to  break,  each  vieing  with  the  other  in  a 
ceaseless  struggle  to  o'erwlielm  our  liny  bark  and  its  freight  of 
human  hearts  and  human  hopes.  One  moment  in  the  trough 
of  this  sea  and  we  are  swamped  !  There  is  but  one  course  to 
pursue,  if  we  proceed.  —  and  we  adopt  it.  We  head  her  before 
the  wind  and  go  tor  the  shore.  The  great  waves  come  rolling 
on  after  us  and  under  us.  but  not  into  us.     We  are  up  on  the 


crests,  we  are  down  in  the  trough.  We  paddle  but  ligiitly 
now,  for  the  wind  is  driving  us  before  it,  and  all  our  strength 
will  be  needed  later.  The  canoe  heaves  and  surges.  It  is  a 
a  difficult  matter  to  keep  her  directly  before  the  wind.  My 
companion  is  an  experienced  canoeist,  and  all  his  skill  is 
brought  into  account.  We  are  as  near  this  rocky  shore  as  we 
dare  approach.  Now  comes  the  trial  I  We  must  come  about 
and  face  the  tempest.  Watching  for  a  favorable  chance,  we 
bend  to  the  paddles,  and  throw  the  canoe  around.  The  wind 
seems  almost  a  hurricane.  Now  and  then  a  fitful  gust  takes 
the  water  up  in  sheets  and  scatters  it  like  rain.  We  paddle 
with  our  whole  strength,  holding  to  every  inch  and  fighting  for 
more.  We  have  gone  about  as  far  as  our  muscles  can  take  us, 
and  again,  watching  our  chance,  we  again  come  about  and  put 
for  shore. 

We  have  been  able  to  "  quarter  it "  so  very  little,  that  in  the 
fifty  rods  of  surface  over  which  we  have  passed,  not  more  than 
three  to  five  rods  have  been  gained  on  the  shore.  Again  and 
again  we  repeat  these  tactics,  occasionally  making  a  gain  often 
or  twelve  rods,  from  twice  that  distance  paddling. 

By  high  noon  we  are  tired  and  hungry,  and  we  decide  to 
land  on  that  sandy  beach  ahead  and  rest. 

The  man  in  the  bow  is  ready,  and  as  we  approach  the  shore 
he  jumps  overboard,  and  seizing  the  canoe  by  the  nose,  makes 
for  dry  land  j  a  big  wave  gives  her  a  helpful  toss,  and  in  less 
time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  she  is  high  and  drj'  upon  the  sand. 

We  go  up  among  the  rocks  and  start  a  fire  ;  but  fire  won't 
burn  in  this  wind,  and  we  take  to  the  sheltftr  of  the  woods.  On 
the  top  of  a  pilch-pole  fence  that  extends  some  distance  off 
shore,  ray  friend  creeps  out  to  clearer  water,  and  fills  the  kettle. 
I  have  seldom  seen  a  man  in  a  more  laughable,  and  at  the  same 
lime  delicate,  position  ;  for  he  did  not  care  to  fall  into  that  angry 
and  v:ct  water.  He  safely  lands,  however,  and  the  "old 
maids"  are  soon  enjoying  their  cups  of  tea. 

As  we  sit  by  the  fire,  having  disposed  of  our  "  picked  up 
dinner,"  "Bick,"  I  say,  "I  have  a  wife  and  baby  at  home 
whom  1  warn  to  see  again,  and  I  don't  propose  to  move  from 
this  spot,  till  this  wind  and  sea  subside." 

"  And  so  have  /,  a  wife  and  three  babies  whom  /  want  to 


see  again.  We  can't  afford  to  run  such  risk.  We'll  stay  where 
we  are  till  we  can  go  forward  with  safety." 

Shortly  after  one  o'clock  we  notice  a  sudden  lull  in  the  wind. 
The  white  caps  grow  less,  though  of  course  the  heavy  swell 
cannot  materially  diminish  so  quickly. 

Waiting  a  little  to  make,  as  we  think,  sure  of  the  change,  we 
again  embark.  Alas  !  how  deceived  !  Before  we  have  rounded 
the  rocky  point,  a  half  hour's  paddle  distant,  the  blast  comes 
down  upon  us  with  renewed  force,  and  from  here  till  we  thank- 
fully leave  these  turbulent  waters,  we  repeat  our  morning's  ex- 
perience ;  harder  now  than  then,  too,  for  little  less  than  a  half 
dozen  hours  of  this  battling  has  had  its  effect  upon  us.  Our 
seemingly  frail  craft  rides  the  water  like  a  duck.  At  every 
plunge  it  seems  she  must  go  under,  but  every  time,  this  gallant 
little  swimmer  keeps  her  nose  above  the  surface ;  practically 
every  time,  for  not  more  than  thrice,  in  all  this  combat  did  she 
ship  a  drop  of  water,  save  such  as  came  over  her  in  spray ;  and 
the  total  amount  taken  in  at  those  three  times,  did  not  amount, 
in  the  aggregate,  to  three  quarts.  By  four  o'clock  we  have 
finally  beached  the  canoe,  and  spent  some  time  walking  up  and 
down  the  road,  a  half  mile  up  from  the  shore  of  the  lake,  in  a 
fruitless  endeavor  to  find  a  man  with  some  kind  of  a  convey- 
ance to  haul  us  across  the  rough  country  that  lay  between  us 
and  Wilson  Pond,  over  to  the  east,  a  mile  distant.  Wearied 
with  searching,  we  return  to  the  beach,  aching  with  the  very 
thought  that  to  reach  Wilson  Pond  that  night,  we  must  ourselves 
make  the  carry.  If  you  lay  out  a  canoe  trip  my  friend,  bear  in 
mind  that  the  place  for  your  boat  is  underneath  you,  and  not  on 
your  shoulders.  There's  a  sort  of  fascination  about  the  word 
**  carry.''  It  sounds  well  to  talk  of  carrying  from  one  water  to 
another ;  it  is  easy  enough  to  do  it  on  paper ;  and  if  one  has 
not  too  heavy  a  load,  and  the  distance  be  not  too  long,  and  the 
way  be  smooth  and  unobstructed,  and  the  sun  shines  the  while, 
it  is  a  pleasant  feature  of  the  trip.  But  let  every  condition  be 
directly  the  opposite  of  this,  and  it  becomes  quite  a  different 

We  have,  unfortunately,  not  less  than  two  hundred  pounds 
of  baggage,  besides  the  canoe,  which  weighed,  when  we 
started,  sixty-nine  pounds.     She  is  wet  now,  and,  of  course, 


weighs  more.  To  our  credit  be  it  known  that  we  supposed  we 
could  get  hauled  across  this  place,  or  we  should  never  have 
embraced  it  within  our  route.  Our  bedding  qnd  overcoats 
make  two  packs,  each  as  large  as  one  can  carry  :  of  our  cook- 
ing utensils,  rubber  boots,  ammunition  bag,  extra  blankets, 
etc.,  etc.,  we  are  obliged  to  make  two  more  bundles;  our  three 
boxes  of  food  and  dishes  make  another  load,  and,  finally,  the 
canoe  —  all  we  both  can  manage.  It  is  half-past  four  when  we 
shoulder  our  first  load.  We  carry  this  about  twenty  rods,  drop 
it  and  return  for  another,  then  another  and  another,  till  the 
four  loads  are  brought  up. 

Already  considering  ourselves  asses,  we  harness  to  the  canoe 
in  regular  donkey  fashion.  Fastening  a  rope  around  the  for- 
ward thwart,  we  put  the  axe-handle  through  the  bight  and  drag 
the  canoe  behind  us.  No  saving  of  energy,  I  am  aware,  hut 
we  find  this  such  a  relief  to  sore  shoulders  and  lame  backs  that 
not  again  that  night  do  we  lift  the  boat  from  the  ground.  A 
few  rods  of  smooth  footing,  and  then  a  change.  Our  journey 
thus  far  has  been  hard,  but  now  begins  an  experience  before 
which  all  else  fades  into  utter  nothingness.  The  surface  of  the 
ground  here  makes  a  sudden  change  —  rocks,  and  knolls,  and 
holes,  and  bushes  —  a  difficult  place  to  walk  over,  even  in  day- 
light; but  here  we  are,  loaded  down  with  all  we  can  carry  ;  so 
leg-weary  that  we  can  scarcely  get  one  foot  before  the  other, 
and.  worse  than  all  else,  pitch  darkness  surrounding  us.  And 
seven  limes  over  this  course  we  must  go  before,  with  our 
eflecis,  we  reach  Wilson  Pond  I 

My  friend  proposes  that  we  turn  the  canoe  over  here,  l?ave 
what  of  our  goods  we  won't  need  to-night,  and  push  on  to  the 
shore  of  the  lake,  where  we  can  pitch  our  tent,  and  lie  down. 
Accordingly,  we  take  tent,  bedding  and  food,  necessitating  only 
two  trips,  and  creep  along, — creep  along,  over  the  wall,  down 
through  the  tangled  bushes,  to  the  water's  edge.  Oh,  what  a 
tramp !  Compared  with  this,  poor  Pilgrim's  path  was  strewn 
with  roses. 

We  have  been  more  than  four  hours  making  this  carry,  and 
have  walked  more  than  eight  miles  !  We  are  completely  ex- 
hausted I  Partaking  of  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  bit  of  toast,  we 
crawl  into  our  hastily  pitched  tent,  and  fall   asleep.     Oh  I  that 


was  a  refreshing  sleep  !     We  slept  because  we  could  not  help  it. 

Sabbath  morning  breaks  calm  and  clear.  The  mist,  that 
hangs  upon  the  surface  of  the  water,  soon  burns  away.  Break- 
fast over,  it  is  the  work  of  but  an  hour  to  bring  the  canoe  down, 
strike  tent  and  be  off. 

From  eighteen  to  twenty  miles  lie  between  us  and  home  : — an 
easy  journey  if  this  good  weather  prevail ;  but  the  haze,  creep- 
ing up  the  eastern  sky,  warns  us  of  a  swift-coming  change. 
On  the  stream  by  which  these  waters  flow  into  Annabesscook, 
manufactories  of  various  kinds  are  located ;  and  built  up  around 
them,  is  the  pretty  little  village  of  North  Monmouth. 

At  this  season  of  the  year,  when  the  pond  is  so  low  that  no 
water  flows  over  the  dam,  the  stream,  for  some  distance  down, 
is  too  shoal  to  navigate,  except  during  working  hours ;  then  the 
gates  are  open,  and  the  water,  pouring  through,  gives  life  and 
energy  to  spindle  and  lathe  and  trip-hammer.  But  this  is 
Sabbath  morning,  —  the  mills  are  idle,  and  the  water  held  back 
for  future  use.  There  are  no  less  than  five  dams  on  this 
stream, — five  more  than  we  propose  to  carry  around.  We 
learn,  from  the  men  and  boys  who  gather  about  us  to  admire 
the  canoe,  that  it  is  some  two  and  one-half  miles  down  to  where 
the  back  flow  from  Annabesscook  makes  good  navigable  water. 

Accepting  a  gentleman's  offer  to  take  us  across  at  ten  o'clock, 
we  bid  good  bye  to  Wilson  Pond  and  North  Monmouth,  and 
begin  our  third  and  last  trip  overland.  By  eleven  o'clock  we 
are  again  afloat,  nearing  Annabesscook.  The  sky  has  become 
dark  and  threatening,  and  the  wind  blows  strong  from  the  East. 
Of  the  flock  of  ducks  that  rise  up  before  us  we  take  no  heed, 
but  as  fast  as  lame  and  stiff*  shoulders  and  arms  will  permit,  we 
paddle  ahead.  We  open  into  Annabesscook,  skirt  across  its 
foot,  and  turn  down  the  Juggernaut. 

We  meet  with  no  obstruction  this  morning,  for  the  heavy  rain 
has  raised  the  water  a  bit.  We  carry  around  the  dam  at  East 
Monmouth,  shoot  down  the  quick  water  below,  and  on  towards 
the  lake.  The  current  grows  weaker,  the  stream  deeper.  We 
round  the  point  at  its  foot,  and  dip  our  paddles  in  the  clear 
waters  of  Cobbosseecontee. 

Grand  old  Cobbosseecontee !  Biggest  and  brightest  and 
best  of  all !      Best  to  me,  because  by  its  shores,  and  on  its 


bosom,  I  have  grown  from  weakness  to  strength,  from  sickness 
to  health,  I  have  breathed  the  pure  air  of  its  pine-clad  borders  ; 
I  have  sailed  over  its  dancing  waters,  and,  day  after  day,  I 
have  cast  the  tempting  fly  upon  its  sparkling  surface.  It  has 
been  my  friend  !     I  love  it,  and  I  give  it  hearty  greeting. 

The  light  rain  that  has  been  falling  for  some  time  gives  us  no 
inconvenience,  nor  does  the  east  wind  stir  up  enough  sea  to 
offer  serious  drawback.  Straight  up  the  lake  we  go,  pausing 
anon  to  drink  in  the  matchless  beauty  of  green  isle  and  fertile 
shore  ;  then  on,  for  the  storm  is  behind  us  ! 

In  a  sheltered  cove,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  "  Horseshoe." 
we  beach  for  dinner.  It  is  three  o'clock  when  we  push  off  for 
the  final  run. 

Over  to  the  east,  and  a  little  above  us,  is  the  head  of  Cobbos- 
seeconlee  stream,  the  connecting  link  between  this  lake  and  the 
Kennebec  River.  This  stream  is  of  great  value  to  our  manu- 
facturing interests  ;  it  turns  the  wheels  of  many  mills,  and  well 
it  may,  for  between  its  banks  flow  the  mingled  waters  of 
Greeley,  and  Maranocook,  and  Annabesscook,  and  Wilson, 
and  Cobbosseecontee. 

Our  journey  is  nearly  over.  The  wind  has  been  hauling  to 
"the  south,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  helps  us  along  our  way. 

On  we  go,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  to  our  cottage  in  the 
beautiful  grove  at  the  upper  end  of  the  lake.  The  sight  of 
familiar  forms  about  its  door  puts  new  life  into  our  paddles. 
Our  friends  discover  and  hurry  down  to  meet  us,  A  stroke  of 
the  paddles,  a  toss  of  a  wave  —  our  canoe  is  beached  and  our 
cruise  ended. 

A  hard  trip:  —  altogether  too  hard.  Still  we  clahu  that  our 
plans  were  not  at  fault,  save  in  one  particular,  —  that  of  not 
allowing  for  wind  and  weather.  In  six  days,  under  favorable 
circumstances,  we  could  have  gone  over  this  route  easily, — 
leisurely.  Had  we  gotten  down  Cobbossee  Tuesday  morning 
before  the  wind  came  up,  we  should  have  reached  that  night 
the  spot  on  which  we  camped  Wednesday  night;  for  the  wind 
would  have  been  behind  us  from  the  time  we  entered  the  Jug- 
gernaut. Then  came  the  two  days  of  rain,  making,  in  reality, 
a  loss  of  three  days. 

The  prudent  thing  to  have   done,  was  to  have  remained  on 

362  '  ^'WHrr'' 

the  shore  of  Maranocook  till  Friday  morning,  then  retraced  our 
course.  But  we  had  talked  of  the  trip  so  long,  that  we  felt 
it  would  be  inglorious  to  give  it  up.  We  followed  our  pride, 
rather  than  our  judgment,  and  we  paid  the  penalty. 

And  yet,  now  that  it  is  over,  we  do  not  regret  our  action. 
Some  of  our  experiences  we  shall  never  duplicate, — no^  never  I 
— ^and  as  we  sit  by  the  winter's  fire,  and  talk  of  the  past  and 
plan  for  the  future,  we  shall  refer,  I  know,  with  a  good  deal  of 
pleasure,  to  our  trip  over  the  waters  of  beautiful  Kennebec. 

*•  WH  Y?" 

From  the  German  of  Maximilian  Bern. 

Why  is  it  that,  with  you  in  sight 
From  morning  till  day  closes, 

My  dreams  will  run  through  all  the  night 
On  nothing  but  wild  roses? 

And  when  I  pass  a  summer  day 

Where  those  sweet  blooms  are  teeming, 

Why  is  it,  love,  —  O  tell  me,  pray  — 
Of  you,  all  night  I'm  dreaming? 




The  old  meeting-house  of  which  I  write  is  situated  upon  a 
picturesque  plain  in  the  geographical  centre  of  a  New  England 
township,  that  is  rich  in  history  and  famous  as  the  scene  of  leg- 
ends that  give  color  to  romance  and  poetry.  In  its  background, 
ragged  mountain  ranges  rise  tier  upon  tier  against  the  Northern 
sky.  Its  foreground  slopes  to  a  rippling  brook,  and  on  either 
side  woods  stretch  to  the  farming  districts.  This  old  edifice — 
square,  stiff  and  unadorned  in  architecture,  its  shingles  and 
unpainted  clapboards  falling  off,  moss  gathering  on  its  roof  and 
wild  vines  clinging  to  its  porches — is  a  veritable  spectre  of  a 
silent  generation  of  men  and  women,  over  the  ashes  and  memo- 
ries of  which  it  maintains  solemn  and  undisturbed  vigil.  Within 
the  decaying  walls  of  this  ancient  zion  no  hymns  of  praise  are 
sung,  no  words  of  Christian  faith  and  hope  are  spoken ;  and 
from  its  desolate  altar  no  incense  rises,  no  prayers  ascend. 
Indeed,  sad  though  the  fact  may  b*e,  that  cold  word  **  deserted" 
is  everywhere  plainly  visible;  while  that  sadder  word  ** aband- 
oned" infects  the  very  atmosphere  that  surrounds  it  and  dulls 
the  enthusiasm  for  old  things  that  prompts  one  to  linger  in  its 
presence  in  contemplation  of  its  aspect  and  history. 

Behind  this  old  meeting-house  there  is  an  old  church-yard  in 
which  bushes  and  wild  grass,  and  here  and  there  a  willow  tree, 
nod  in  the  wind,  and  where  peacefully  lie  buried  the  bodies  of 
the  early  settlers  of  the  region. 

In  front  of  this  old  meeting-house  there  is  an  unfenced  com- 
mon, on  which  stand  a  dozen  or  more  untrimmed  oaks  and 
maples,  whose  gnarled  trunks  and  dead  branches  tell  the  story 
of  their  age  and  neglect.  Here  in  the  long  ago  —  in  the  good 
old  times  that  men  and  women  of  mature  years  dream  and  talk 
about — the  people  of  the  town  gathered  when  momentous 
events  were  transpiring  in  their  country's  history ;  here  the 
drums  were  beat  that  summoned  to  arms  the  patriots  of  the 
Revolution ;  here,  in  after  years,  the  farmers  rendezvoused  for 


May  and  September  training ;  and  here  the  dear  boys  played 
soldier,  and  celebrated  Independence  day.  It  was  also  here 
that  the  prospects  of  the  crops,  the  price  current,  politics,  and 
many  other  secular  subjects  were  discussed  between  the  hours 
of  Church  service ;  here  the  town-meeting  was  held,  and  on 
this  very  spot  occurred  the  happy  annual  event  of  the  neighbor- 
hood—  known  as  the  **  Cattle  Show." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  of  a  day  during  one  summer 
vacation,  while  returning  from  a  fishing  jaunt  along  the  margin 
of  the  brook,  that  I  last  visited  the  old  meeting-house.  I  had 
hurried  thither  to  find  a  place  of  shelter  from  a  gathering  storm. 
Already  dark  and  ominous  clouds  hung  over  the  hillside ;  a 
heavy  wind,  the  forerunner  of  a  tempest,  sighed  in  the  foliage 
of  the  trees,  and  bent  like  whip-cords  the  birches  and  alders  by 
the  stream,  while  the  birds,  alarmed  by  the  distant  peals  of 
thunder  and  flashes  of  lightning,  shrieked  in  frightful  medley ; 
the  cattle  and  sheep  in  the  pastures  hurried  away  to  secluded 
places  in  the  underbrush,  and  weird  darkness,  such  as  I  had 
seldom  observed  before,  settled  on  the  scene.  Approaching  the 
deserted  old  edifice  under  these  circumstances,  a  feeling  of 
loneliness  —  something  akin  to  fear — took  possession  of  me  ; 
my  nerves  collapsed,  and  I  sat  down  upon  a  boulder  that  had 
fallen  from  the  wall. 

While  in  this  plight  a  fortunate  circumstance  attracted  my 
attention.  The  door  of  the  old  house  stood  ajar,  —  as  though 
extending  a  welcome  to  the  solitary  pilgrim,  and  bidding  him 
enter.  I  arose  mechanically,  and,  approaching  it  cautiously  — 
for  I  was  somewhat  undecided  —  hesitated  at  the  threshold.  I 
dreaded — at  least  that  was  the  excuse  I  made  to  myself — to  enter 
the  mouldy  and  dungeon-like  atmosphere  that  came  to  the  nos- 
trils, and  besides  —  for  I  may  as  well  confess  the  truth  —  I  had 
been  told  only  a  few  days  before,  that  the  place  was  haunted ; 
that  the  ghost  of  a  woman  had  been  seen  there  many  times. 
Just  then  the  storm  broke  in  fury  on  the  mountain  side.  Vivid 
flashes  of  lightning  played  in  the  horizon  that  bounded  my 
view  ;  heavy  peals  of  thunder  caused  the  earth  to  tremble  under 
my  feet,  and  rumbled  across  the  intervening  valley,  while  heav}' 
drops  of  rain,  and  a  gray  cloud  that  swept  ground-ward,  admon- 
ished me  that  I  had  best  seek  a  place  of  safety.     As  I  entered. 


a  feeling  like  that  which  must  have  possessed  the  venerable  pil- 
grim of  the  scripture  when  he  removed  the  sandals  from  his 
feet — remembering  that  the  ground  on  which  he  stood  was 
holy  ground,  —  came  over  me,  I  had  no  thought  beside  at  the 
moment,  and  hence,  without  giving  the  subject  the  slightest 
consideration,  like  one  who  follows  a  beaten  path  from  force  of 
habit,  I  sat  down  in  the  very  pew  I  had  occupied  when,  in 
youth,  we  were  well-ordered,  but  unwilling  listeners  to  long 
sermons  that  we  younger  ones  did  not  understand,  and  which 
were  not  of  the  slightest  interest  to  us. 

The  old  family  pew.  however,  has  its  silent  influence. 
Sacred  memories  cluster  about  it.  It  tells  touching  stories  of 
home  and  kindred.  "Ah!"  I  sighed,  "what  troubled  and 
anxious  hearts  have  here  found  the  peace  the  world  cannot 
give  !  What  confessions,  known  only  to  the  infinite  Father, 
have  here  been  made,  and  what  great  burdens  have  been  lifted  by 
faith  and  trust !  What  tired  fathers  and  mothers  have  here  found 
the  only  rest  and  quiet  in  passing  weeks  and  years.  How  elo- 
quent it  is  I  How,  upon  the  returning  pilgrim,  the  spirit  of  the 
old  time  steals  with  soothing  influence,  and  how  the  softened, 
chastened  sensibility  almost  feels  the  rustle  of  garments,  and 
the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand.  How  plainly  he  sees  the  fea- 
tures and  forms  of  loved  ones  who  are  no  more  in  this  life  1 

Everything  in  and  about  this  sacred  old  place  was  familiar 
to  me.  There,  before  my  very  eyes,  was  the  altar  of  our 
fathers,  its  pretentious  back  rising  to  the  beam  on  which  the 
roof  rested,  and  its  ornamental  mouldings,  carved  ornaments 
and  brackets,  telling  of  the  superior  workmanship  of  the  car- 
penters of  '  ye  olden  times.'  There  was  the  costly  drapery  that 
was  once  the  object  of  admiring  eyes,  but  which  was  now  dingy 
and  faded.  There  was  the  large  sounding-board  on  which  the 
cobwebs  now  clung,  and  the  dust  of  half  a  century  was  undis- 
turbed ;  and  the  hand-finished  sheathing,  and  the  oil  lamps  on 
each  side  of  the  pulpit.  There,  too,  were  the  high-backed 
square  pews,  with  seats  that  turned  up  like  the  modern  opera 
chair  ;  here  and  there  in  racks  were  coverless  hymnals,  on  the 
fly  leaf  of  which  were,  doubtless,  the  scrawls  of  some  boy  or 
girl.  On  the  south  wall  by  the  singer's  loft,  the  same  gilt- 
framed  clock  was  still  suspended  from   an   iron   hook.     There 


was  tbt  gallta-T  far  the  tcm-D"*  poor  an  l3ic  east,  and  for  trai>- 
fiienl  people  and  farm  liaiids  on  the  "w^^st. — and  all  about  the 
church  the  fyrtv-lig'ht  windows,  cohweibbed,  dusty,  and  dark  as 
twiiigiil.  AD  these  olrjectB  iiad  Bomethin^  of  pecriliar  interest 
about  them  :  and  had  3  been  mating  a  Toluntary  risit  at  a  differ- 
ent hour  of  the  da3'.  and  under  different  circumstances,  with  a 
talkative  companion,  3  should  kare  looked  upon  them  with  a 
freer  enthusiasm  and  ^rrcater  pleasure- 
But  my  mind  wat  disturbed.  The  rain  was  now  faTHng  in 
torrent*;,  the  pealt;  of  thunder  and  the  flashes  of  lightning  were 
appalling,  and  the  place  was  quite  dark  and  altogether  dreary, 
A  gust  of  wind  closed  the  door  behind  me  i^-ith  a  startling 
report,  the  old  edifice  trembled  and  creaked  in  its  joints^  and 
the  window  shutters,  too,  rattled  on  their  loose  hinges«  The 
situation  was  indeed  dispiriting.  I  felt  like  one  at  the  parting 
of  the  war  —  at  the  border  land  between  the  real  and  the 
unreal.  Surely  it  was  not  an  hour  when  things  ideal  naturally 
liJJ  the  mind,  or  flights  of  fancy  control  the  imipulses;  and  yet 
the  place  seemed  *'  filled  with  whispers;"  and,  when  the  storm 
had  spent  its  force,  and  repose  had  in  a  measure  come  to  the 
excited  body,  strange  thoughts  and  imaginings  possessed  me. 
On  the  one  side  was  the  "visible  world  in  the  darkness  of  dond 
and  storm  :  on  the  other  side  was  the  in^-isible  world  in  the 
light  that  reflects  from  the  soul.  In  this  light  the  renerable 
clerg\'man,  whom  I  remembered  well,  was  rehabilitated  and 
before  me  in  the  sacred  desk ;  the  good  deacons,  with  austere 
deportment  significant  of  their  high  calling,  were  in  their  accus- 
tomed places  in  the  chancel  pew  in  front,  and  the  singers  in  the 
galler}'  at  the  rear,  while  the  empty  pews  were  peopled  with  a 
congregation  of  the  past. 

Few  people  can  w-onder  that  in  such  an  hour  and  in  such  a 
presence  as  this  —  with  such  associations  filling  the  e\'e  and 
such  reflections  overwhelming  the  mind — the  crowd  in  which  we 
mingle  in  the  avocations  of  life  is  forgotten.  None  can  w^onder 
that  control  of  the  nen-es  in  a  measure  ceases,  and  that,  with- 
out being  clearlj^  conscious  of  what  is  transpiring,  the  beholder 
is  compelled  to  consider  problems  that  have  never  before 
suggested  themselves  to  his  mind,  and  which  have  no  con- 
necting link  with  affairs  of  everj'-day  life  and  thought?     Surely 



it  was  not  a  common  experience,  and,  therefore,  it  should  not 
be  a  surprise  that  I  was  a  good  deal  confused,  and  in  a  large 
measure  unaccountable  for  my  physical  weakness  and  morbid 

As  the  drapery  of  cloud  and  storm  which  had  veiled  the 
heavens  lifted,  and  the  light  increased,  these  preternatural 
objects  faded  from  my  vision  and  caused  me  to  realize  that  I 
had  drifted  to  the  border  of  the  supernatural.  This  old  meet- 
ing-house, I  meditated,  is  only  a  place  for  bats  and  swallows  to 
inhabit,  and  for  rats  and  mice  to  play  hide-and-seek  in.  It  is 
merely  dismal  and  lonesome  ! 

This  view  of  the  surroundings  brought  me  but  one  desire. 
That  desire  was  to  depart,  and  that  speedily.  Yet  something — 
possibly  lack  of  decision, —  caused  me  to  remain.  I  hesitated, 
lingered,  and  presently  strange  sounds  came  to  my  ears ;  weird 
imaginings  revived  the  activity  of  my  brain  and  gave  form  and 
color  to  objects  that  had  no  tangible  existence  and  were  but  the 
reflex  of  my  mental  and  physical  disturbance  through  the 
agency  of  the  eye. 

But  what  if  the  place  was  haunted?  I  had  never  believed 
that  disembodied  spirits  returned  to  the  haunts  of  men,  but  for 
all  that  it  might  be  true  that  they  do.  Might  be  true  !  And, 
as  though  timed  to  meet  the  unnatural  condition  of  my  over- 
wrought imagination,  there  was  clearly  before  me,  standing 
erect  in  the  old  pulpit,  the  form  of  a  young  woman. 

The  cold  perspiration  started  from  every  pore,  and  fear  took 
me  into  full  possession.  What  could  I  do?  What  could  I  say? 
I  catechised  myself  severely,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  thati 
was  awake,  and  that  I  was  in  an  old  meeling-house,  that  I  was 
in  a  normal  condition  of  body  and  mind.  It  seemed  that  I 
could  not  be  mistaken  that  my  menial  equilibrium  had  been 
restored,  and  I  was  consequently  half  persuaded  that  the  form 
before  me  was  only  a  strange,  and  for  the  moment,  unfath- 
omable phenomenon.  To  my  perplexity  and  discomfort,  it  did 
not  disappear.  I  tried  to  be  convinced  that  my  optical  vision 
was  defective,  that  the  light  somehow  focused  ai  the  pulpit; 
that  the  unaccountable  figure  was  only  the  shadow  of  some  ob- 
ject I  could  not  discover;  that  I  was  asleep  and  in  a  night- 
mare dream;  and,  finally,  that  it  was  all  a  hallucination.     My 


confusion  was  only  increased  by  these  violent  efforts  of  the 
mind  to  solve  the  mystery ;  for,  whatever  it  might  be,  it  would 
not  down.  It  had  animation  like  a  living  being  and  had  come 
to  stay. 

In  the  meantime  I  forced  my  moral  courage  to  its  utmost 
limit  and  discovered  that  I  could  neither  speak,  fight,  nor  run 
away.  I  looked  the  apparition  squarely  in  the.  face.  The  fea- 
tures seen  in  the  semi-darkness  were  not  like  those  I  had  seen 
in  engravings  and  paintings  representing  angels  and  ghosts ;  nor 
did  they  bear  the  slightest  resemblance  to  those  I  had  looked  upon 
at  stances.  Moreover  the  clothing  was  positive  ;  there  were  no 
indications  of  the  grave  about  it.  In  fact  unless  I  was  a  mental 
wreck,  and  totally  incapable  of  distinguishing  between  the  real 
and  the  artificial,  there  stood  before  me  a  young  woman  of 
modern  make-up,  a  being  clothed  in  a  jaunty  summer  habit, 
with  a  hat  highly  ornamented  with  flowers  and  feathers  upon 
her  head,  bangs  and  frizzles  upon  her  forehead,  and  a  flashing 
diamond  pin  in  the  ribbon  about  her  neck.  Her  contrast  with 
materialized  young  women  who  had  appeared  before  me  **once 
on  a  time''  was  so  marked  as  to  greatly  amaze  me.  Surely, 
thought  I,  the  genuine  article  has  at  last  been  discovered;  but, 
having  found  it,  I  have  no  earthly  use  for  it.  My  only  desire  was 
to  be  excused  from  further  acquaintance. 

But  what  was  it?  That  was  the  perplexing  question  I  could 
not  answer.  Sujrgestive  interrogatives  came  fast.  Was  it  an 
angel  that  had  been  **  doomed  to  walk  the  earth  a  certain 
length  of  time"  in  penance  for  the  sin  of  putting  on  airs  among 
the  majority,  and  for  vainly  imagining  herself  better  in  the  sight 
of  God  than  her  less  fortunate  sisters  !  Was  it  a  seraphim  that 
had  been  sent  to  the  neighborhood  to  gather  a  host  from  the 
city  belles  who  pose  as  the  moral,  intellectual  and  fashionable 
superiors  of  those  who  are  their  equals  in  all  things  except  the 
contents  of  their  father's  pocket-books?  More  startling  still, — 
was  it  a  messenger  with  a  summons  for  me  to  appear  in  the 
realms  of  the  ** great  majority"?  Was  it  the  phantasm  of 
dreamy  reverie,  or,  in  defiance  of  all  natural  laws,  of  all  my 
disbeliefs  and  scoffing  at  spiritualism,  a  genuine  disembodied 
spirit  that  had  returned  to  earth  and  taken  this  favorable  oppor- 
tunity to   teach   a   serious   and  solemn  lesson  concerning  the 



mysteries  that  are  hidden  just  beyond  the  veil  that  separates  the 
seen  from  the  unseen?     I  could  not  answer. 

Meanwhile  the  apparition  had  given  no  evidence  of  possess- 
ing a  voice.  It  moved  noiselessly  about,  and  presently  paused 
at  the  chancel  window,  and  apparently  watched  with  interest 
the  progress  of  the  storm. 

AH  this  time  my  wonderment,  and  the  tension  upon  the  ner- 
vous system,  increased,  I  felt  that  I  was  being  punished  before 
my  time,  and  would  gladly  have  made  a  hasty  retreat,  if  I  had 
felt  sure  of  controlling  my  movements.  On  the  contrary,  I 
seemed  to  be  in  paralysis.  My  eyes  were  fixed. —  the  ghostly 
object  filling  my  vision  completely.  Was  it  mortal  or  immor- 
tal? This  was  the  question.  It  did  not  occur  lo  me  at  the  dme 
that  the  former  could  not  harm  me;  and  that  if  it  was  the 
latter  it  roust  be  shadowy,  without  substance,  and  incapable 
of  sustained  physical  struggle  with  man.  And  yet — "what 
fools  we  mortals  are  !"  My  hair  was  standing  on  end,  and  the 
blood  coursing  excitedly  through  my  veins. 

But  the  old  meeting-house  ghost  had  a  voice  like  mortals. 
Listen  I 

"  Friends :  As  the  medium  of  one  who  was  born  in  this 
mountain  range,  and  who,  for  good  and  sufficient  reasons,  can- 
not speak  for  herself,  I  propose  to  relate  to  you,  in  the  first  per- 
son, the  story  of  a  life  that  was  burdened  with  sorrow  and  made 
dark  by  unfaithfulness  to  betrothal  vows.  How  it  happened, 
aod  when  it  happened,  that  I  obtained  the  confession  {for  such 
it  is)  you  shall  never  know;  but  my  purpose  in  relating  it  I 
will  make  clear  to  you.  Briefly  stated,  —  it  is  that  those  who 
are  given  to  inconstancy,  who  hold  all  pledges  lightly,  may  be 
led  to  see  that  such  conduct  is  a  crime,  and  punishable  by  laws 
that  were  enacted  by  higher  tribunals  than  those  over  which 
men  preside.  Having  stated  the  moral  of  my  story  at  the  out- 
set. I  now  proceed  with  the  confession ;  giving,  as  nearly  as  I 
can,  the  words  in  which  I  received  it. — 'A  good  many  years 
have  come  and  gone  since  I  lived  and  suffered  among  the  peo- 
ple of  the  earth ;  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  those  of  you 
who  are  happy  in  your  lot  and  to  whom  the  world  has  endless 
attractions,  i  have  never  ceased  to  rejoice  over  my  departure 
from  the  body  or  seen  an  hour  when  I  had  the  slightest  wish  to 


return.  Let  me  say  to  you  in  all  the  sincerity  I  can  command, 
that  I  found  the  world  a  cold  and  dreary  place,  peopled  for  the 
most  part  —  perhaps  I  am  a  little  too  broad  in  my  statement  — 
with  selfish,  unprincipled,  unfeeling  men  and  women.  You 
shall  judge.'" 

I  did  not  wish  to  judge,  but  to  get  out  of  the  haunted  place. 
There  was  not,  however,  strength  enough  in  my  legs  to  carry 
me  out,  and  so  I  was  compelled  to  listen. 

**  •  Unlike  my  present  pale  countenance  and  unattractive  form, 
in  raiment  not  easily  described,  I  was,  when  a  participant  in 
the  affairs  of  earth,  attractive  in  form  and  feature,  blessed  with 
robust  healih.  and  clothed  as  became  the  daughter  of  a  well-to- 
do  farmer.  The  winter  I  was  eighteen  I  became  the  teacher 
of  a  district  school.  I  also  became  the  leading  alto  singer  in  a 
meetinir-house  now  lonij  deserted.  In  that  church  choir  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  young  man.  It  is  the  old,  old  story. 
Ho  was  the  ideal  beau  of  the  times.  I  admired  him.  Our 
acquaintance  ripened  into  regard,  and  found  its  fruition  in  the 
tenderest  attachments  —  on  my  part,  at  least  —  to  which  the 
human  heart  is  susceptible.  I  was  indeed  a  happy  woman. 
Weeks  and  months  of  supreme  happiness  went  by,  and  one  day 
he  asked  me  for  my  hand  in  marriage.  A  few  weeks  later  — 
he  having  visited  nie  at  my  home  and  obtained  my  parents* 
consent  to  our  union  —  we  were  engaged-  All  our  friends 
knew  it.  I  then  ihoucht — sillv  ^x\  that  I  was  —  that  I  had 
won  ail  there  was  in  the  world  worth  hax^ing :  while,  to  my 
narrow  vision,  the  future  of  my  life  seemed  secure  in  all  things 
that  to  huniJir.  happiness. 

•  I  taught  the  scr.Lvl  the  next  summer,  and  when  autamn 
came  yas  I  was  to  be  niarried  2t  Christmas)  obtained  the  place 
for  a  schcv^lm^te.  Then  I  se:  abc^ut  ijettinij  readv  for  the  one 
ever.t  :n  a  woman's  Mfe-  My  father  L'^veJ  me,  and  made  ample 
purchases  c^f  things  I  r.eeied.  My  rrjc^ther  and  my  sister  made 
my  weeding  dre<ss  as  :i  g:f:  ::"  arecrrou,  and  my  two  breathers — 
dear«  dearb^ys  who  a  few  vtMr?  I^ter  give  their  lives  to  their 
ocwintrv  in  a  victv'^ri.'us  banle  —  were  iienerous  even  to  self 
cental  in  thetr  enjr:  tr  pve  their  sister  a  proper  outnt.  That  I 
m-as  a  iovc^us  ani  h "rrv  Hrl  \  :u  m.=.v  easilv  believe. 

ibc  latter  rvirt  ■:»:"  the  iutunr^n  niv  lover's 


came  less  frequent,  and  he  did  not  visit  me  on  Thanksgiving 
Day,  as  he  had  promised.  His  excuse  was  that  he  could  not 
spare  the  time  from  his  business.  I  received  his  excuses  in 
good  faith,  and  forgave  the  neglect,  as  in  duty  bound. 

'  The  time  fixed  for  our  marriage  came  at  last.  My  ward- 
robe and  the  many  beautiful  articles  that  my  kindred  and  friends 
had,  by  much  sacrifice,  obtained  for  me,  were  ready  for  the 
event.  The  house,  in  which  there  had  been  for  several  days  a 
busy  scene  of  cooking  and  cleaning,  was  in  order ;  the  tables 
were  spread,  the  invited  guests  were  present,  and  the  clergyman 
had  been  summoned.  The  appointed  hour  arrived,  but  the 
bridegroom  had  not  come  !  Though  greatly  distressed  I  en- 
deavored to  conceal  my  feelings  from  my  assembled  friends, 
making  to  them  all  excuses  I  could  frame  for  my  dilatory  lover. 
Perhaps  some  accident  had  befallen  him ;  perhaps  he  was  ill. 

'  An  hour  passed,  and  still  there  were  no  tidings.  My  alarm 
and  distress  became  loo  great  for  concealment.  My  friends 
looked  into  each  other's  faces  with  increasing  wonder,  and  still- 
ness as  of  a  funeral  came  over  the  company.  The  good  min- 
ister—  who  will  vouch  for  my  statement — comforted  me  as  best 
he  could  under  the  embarrassing  circumstances  ;  and  presently 
the  guests  of  the  evening,  one  by  one.  departed,  —  some  with- 
out bidding  me  good  night,  or  a  happy  issue  out  of  my  trou- 

The  ghost  again  went  to  the  chancel  window :  and  as  she 
remained  there  longer  than  before,  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  to 
consider  the  situation.  Somehow  my  mind  took  a  new  track 
and  I  fell  to  criticising.  "Verily,"  I  said  to  myself,  "this  is 
all  too  natural  to  be  unreal.  Her  voice  and  manner  —  although 
the  former  is  somewhat  augmented  by  the  sounding-board, — are 
too  human  to  be  unearthly.  There  are  no  sepulchral  tones  in 
it.  It  is  a  voice  like  those  trained  in  modern  schools  of  elocu- 
tion.    It  is  unnatural  only  in  the  sense  that  it  is  affected. 

The  medium  returned  to  the  pulpit  and  continued  the  narra- 
tion, while  I  shivered  and  listened  as  before. 

"  'My  parents  and  brothers  and  sisters  were  more  than  kind  to 
me.  They  spoke  most  hopeful,  endearing,  and  comforting 
words.  They  begged  me  to  forget  all  but  them  ;  they  reminded 
me  that  I  had  a  good  home ;  they  promised  me  more  of  happi- 


ness  in  the  future  than  I  had  lost,  and  they  endeavored  to  per- 
suade me  that  the  man  who  had  won  my  heart  and  then  deceived 
me,  was  not  worthy  of  my  hand  in  marriage,  and  that  I  was 
fortunate  in  finding  it  out  before  it  was  too  late. 

*  I  passed  a  sleepless  night,  —  trying  to  look  on  the  bright 
side  and  anticipating  a  joyous  morning.  The  next  day  I  spent 
in  hysterical  weeping,  watching,  and  waiting.  Towards  its 
close  my  brother,  happening  to  be  at  the  village  post-office  and 
meeting  an  acquaintance  from  the  section  where  my  recreant 
lover  resided,  was  told  of  his  perfidy.  He  had  married  my 
schoolmate,  —  the  very  woman  to  whom  I  had  given  up  my 

The  last  fact  added  poignancy  to  my  weight  of  sorrow.  I 
had  been  humiliated  in  the  presence  of  my  friends.  I  was  now 
wounded  to  the  very  depths  of  my  soul.  Bewildered,  cast 
down,  helpless,  hopeless,  and  in  the  torture  that  leads  to  de- 
spair, I  could  no  longer  reason  with  myself.  The  point  where 
self-control  ceases  had  been  passed,  and  I  was  a  mental  wreck. 

'  My  heart  was  broken.  My  happiness  had  vanished  like 
the  imagery  of  a  dream.  My  cherished  hopes  were  destroyed. 
The  plans  that  I  had  made  for  the  future  mocked  me.  Fright- 
ful presentiments  came  up  before  me ;  and,  if  it  were  pos- 
sible to  make  my  mental  condition  worse,  passion  and  wicked 
thoughts  controlled  my  intellect,  so  that,  even  though  I  was  in 
a  good  home  with  kind  and  loving  friends,  there  was  not  a  ray 
of  light  in  the  dark  horizon  that  lowered  about  and  circum- 
scribed my  vision. 

'  In  vain  I  sought  to  discover  a  silver  lining  to  the  clouds 
that  enshrouded  me,  and  thus  to  calm  myself.  In  vain  I 
sought  to  put  away  childish  things  and  be  a  brave  girl.  Noth- 
ing seemed  clear  to  me,  except  that  I  had  parted  with  all  that 
was  dear  to  me,  —  that  I  could  never  hold  my  head  up  in  the 
community  again, — that  everybody  would  shun  me, — that  I  had 
lost  all  that  I  had  a  desire  to  live  for.  Foolish  girl  th?it  I  was, 
I  allowed  myself  to  sink  to  the  lowest  depth  of  unreasoning 
sorrow,  when  I  should  have  had  courage  and  pride  to  rise 
above  such  grovelling. 

*  A  night  of  the  bitterest  and  most  intense  sorrow  followed. 
Towards  morning  I  became  calm,  with  the  calmness  of  deeper- 



atioD,  of  hopelessness, —  the  stolid  stupor  that  accompanies 
blasted  anticipation  and  hopeless  ambition.  The  past,  with  its 
ecstacy  of  joy,  derided  me;  the  future,  with  its  certainties  and 
uncertainties,  appalled  me.  I  imagined  that  I  had  become  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  whole  town;  that  the  thoughtless  and 
unsympathetic  would  ridicule  me;  that  those  who  envied  me 
my  beauty  and  good  home  would  now  look  upon  me  with  dis- 
dain ;  and  I  felt  that  I  could  never  regain  the  peace  which  I 
had  forfeited  in  society.  I  wished  that  I  might  die,  and  thus 
escape  from  a  world  of  trouble. 

'  Thus  my  mind  fluctuated ;  thus  I  brooded  over  my  misfor- 
tune and  disgrace,  until  brain  fever  set  in,  and  I  became  a  rav- 
ing maniac.  In  my  mad  violence  my  recreant  lover  and  his 
hated  bride  haunted  me  hour  after  hour,  and  day  after  day. 
They  were  ever,  it  seemed  to  rae,  by  my  couch, — ever  tor- 
menting me.  They  were  demons  whom  I  could  not  shake  off; 
monsters,  from  whom  I  could  not  escape.  I  cursed  them  and 
pitied  them  by  turns;  I  forgave  them  and  threatened  them  in 
the  same  breath ;  I  bade  them  go  their  way  in  peace,  and  I 
declared  that  I  would  follow  them  in  vengeance.  The  fever 
turned  at  last,  leaving  me  but  a  shadow  of  my  former  self.  My 
hair,  on  which  I  had  prided  myself,  had  fallen  from  my  head; 
my  beauty  had  vanished.     I  was  a  mental  and  physical  wreck. 

'  During  the  first  stages  of  my  hallucination  1  had  lucid  mo- 
ments. Then  I  would  realize  the  unwomanliness  of  my  con- 
duct, and,  in  contrition  and  remorse,  reproach  myself  and 
resolve  that  I  would  rise  superior  to  such  grovelling,  and.  when 
restored  to  health,  begin  life  over  again.  Then  my  friends 
would  be  encouraged  in  the  hope  that  I  would  eventually  re- 
cover. But  these  experiences  were  at  long  intervals  and  of 
short  duration.  At  each  relapse  I  lost  ground,  and  in  the  end 
I  became  a  confirmed  lunatic,  and  a  constant  care  to  my  friends. 
Despite  the  watchfulness  of  my  parents,  I  often  wandered  away, 
—  drawing  the  attention  of  curious  and  unsympathetic  eyes.  I 
often  became  frenzied,  and  was  everywhere  known  as  "Mad 
Nancy."  I  required  more  care  than  an  infant  in  its  mother's 
arms;  and  the  strangest  part  of  it  all  is  that  I  had  a  vague  and 
indistinct  knowledge  of  all  this,  knew  people, —  and  could  con- 
verse quite  intelligently  on  ordinary  subjects. 


*  All  the  members  of  my  family  were  good  to  me.  My  eld- 
est sister  even  refused  an  advantageous  offer  of  marriage  be- 
cause of  her  sense  of  duty  towards  me. 

*  Whenever  I  strayed  from  home — often  with  disarranged 
hair,  torn  clothing,  and  bleeding  limbs,  —  for  I  could  not  pro- 
tect myself — thoughtless  boys  would  jeer  at  me  and  silly  girls 
laugh  at  me.  I  was  everybody's  target,  everybody's  subject  of 
ridicule ;  and  yet  I  ought  not  to  say  this,  for  there  were  a  good 
many  kind  neighbors  who  had  sympathy  for  my  misfortune, 
and  sufficient  respect  for  my  parents  to  conduct  me  home. 

*  What  became  of  my  faithless  lover?  I  will  tell  you. — His 
career  was  gloomy,  sad,  and  miserable  indeed.  Nothing  pros- 
pered at  his  hands,  and  he  had  many  burdensome  and  grievous 
crosses.  His  wife  lost  her  health,  and  became  nervous,  irasci- 
ble, and  a  bill  of  expense.  She  died  after  ten  years  of  unhappy 
married  life,  leaving  a  son,  who,  being  an  invalid,  was  a  con- 
stant care  to  the  father.  These  hardships  and  troubles  kept 
him  poor  and  made  him  prematurely  old  ;  and  so,  after  fifteen 
years  of  life  without  a  ray  of  sunshine  in  it,  in  sorrow  and  sin